“Volatile Reactions” (1/1)
Title: “Volatile Reactions”
Author:Kristen999
Word Count: 5,500
Rating: T
Warning: Some violence
Genre: Gen, Action, H/C
Characters: Team, OCs
Spoilers: None
Summary: Trapped, pursued, and making it up as they go along. The team fight for their lives during a mission gone horribly wrong.
Written for dernhelm62 for the help_pakistan charity.
I wanted to thank the wonderful Wildcat88 for the swift and awesome beta!!
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Ears ringing, Teyla squeezes her trigger finger to the bone, spraying a hail of bullets behind her. Return fire peppers the wall by her head, shards of cement showering her hair. She pivots, striking the guy in the chest with a single shot, and continues covering them.
Keep going. Focus on the enemy. Block out everything else.
John roars over the concussion of sound, “How much longer, McKay?”
“The same as all the other times!”
Huddled in front of another sealed door, the seven of them are stuck in the middle of an intersection and exposed to crossfire. John takes out those coming from the east corridor, and with every burst of his weapon, another body falls. “Try faster!”
Ronon's blaster lights up the hallway as he hangs on to the burly Sergeant Johnson. Corporal Blake covers Rodney, a .45 gripped in his right hand, both Marines out of ammo except for their side arms.
“Almost there,” Rodney hisses, sparks exploding by his face. “Oh, God, I'm blind!”
Carson scurries over. “Let me take a look.”
“No, I'm good, just...just...”
“Open the goddamned door, McKay!” John snaps. “Damn it!”
Teyla can't see what's wrong; the far end of the hall fills with more men than she can shoot. It's like the whole Brakan army has funneled inside. The P-90's kickback slams her chest as she takes out soldier after soldier. Out of the corner of her eye, John moves out of position and Johnson swears, charging after him.
The soldiers stop firing in Teyla's direction, and she risks a glance at John and sees why. A whole squad of Brakan wielding pieces of scrap metal to stop the bullets has taken things to close quarters combat.
Ronon howls, leaping forward to help, but his injured leg crumbles beneath him. Carson crawls over, but Ronon will have none of his assistance, leaving the physician oddly out of place.
Teyla takes advantage of her enemy's vulnerability, shooting at them while they avoid firing on their own. John is lost in the crunch of bodies, but they begin dropping from the use of his k-bar. This isn't the John during sparring; this is brutal and violent and a bit crazed under a thin veil of control. Johnson with his massive hands snaps one man's neck and buries his knife into an exposed back of another foe.
By the time the dead pile up, Rodney exclaims, “We're in!”
“Move!” John orders and they lurch forward.
Teyla protects them with suppression fire, running backwards, barely inside the next room before Rodney closes it and starts working on the controls.
“Lock them out!”
“No, really?” Rodney snaps.
Ronon and Johnson hobble together, weapons out, canvassing one side while she and John take the other. The room is mostly barren except for a few consoles and it only takes seconds to clear it.
“We've got dozens of Brakan about to bust in.” John glances up from the LSD and at the huge set of doors at the opposite end. “There's a large room ahead. We get in there and I don't think it's too much further to the outside.”
“I'm on it,” Rodney declares and nearly falls on his face, but Blake snags him by the vest.
Carson steadies him, fretting over his shoulder, the once stark white dressing staining red. “Whoa, take it easy. Let me check your bandage.”
“There's no time.” Without preamble Rodney goes over to the door. “Oh, no. This one's not like the others. It's definitely made of reinforced steel and the control panel is different.”
John nearly cracks the LSD in half. “I can't get any readings from in there. We'll be going in blind.”
Teyla looks over his shoulder, noticing in alarm the blood splatter all over his uniform. Their eyes meet and he mutters, “It's not mine.”
The left side of his face is streaked with it and Teyla resists the urge to wipe it away. “How long before the others reach us?”
“They've been getting through McKay's hacks in five minutes or less.” John's body practically vibrates with tension. “We've got to find a way to slow 'em down.”
Only an hour ago did everything explode in their faces, the mission to rescue Carson a deadly miscalculation. They've lost five marines and most of the team are injured. Ronon has two bullet holes in his left leg and Rodney got hit in the shoulder, but if they don't escape soon, it won't matter how banged up they are. The Brakan are advanced and quite deadly.
Adrenaline flooding her body, she watches the back door, waiting for it to blow apart with more soldiers. The Brakan haven't used explosives, but that doesn't mean they don't have them.
“Blake, Johnson, give me all your C-4.”
John's men dig through pockets, gathering the deadly wads. Johnson is younger than Ronon but just as large, dark skinned with piercing blue eyes. He slaps all that he has into his CO's hands.
Blake runs over, wiping strands of his matted dirty blond hair from his sweaty forehead, smacking gum in a nervous habit. He's John's age and build, a self-proclaimed farm boy who waits on his CO's command with eagerness. “Sir, what's the plan?”
“I'm going to wire this whole room up. When the Brakan enter, it'll come down on top of them. Hopefully, it'll buy us time to hightail it out of here.”
“You're going to create a circuit out of C-4?”
“Door. Now. McKay!” John barks, kneeling on the floor to assemble his parts. “I need more fuse wire.”
“Can you get it from this stuff?” Never able to stand still in a fight, Ronon limps toward a console and starts breaking it into pieces.
Shaking his head, John tells them it's not the same thing, but Ronon pries apart the equipment anyway. Teyla can't help Rodney with opening the door, but she keeps an eye on the other entrance and squats next to John. “What do you need me to do?”
Never hesitating, John talks her through the steps. “This blue wire is an electric match. It initiates the primary explosion. Stick it in the C-4 and bind it between these bridge wires. I'll try to find enough to spread around the room.”
“Then what?”
“We need to pile as many bad guys in here and blow them all to hell.”
Sweat dribbling down her nose, Teyla crimps the wires together, stringing them from each piece of C-4, knowing there's not enough wiring.
Ronon has destroyed half the consoles, bringing over dangling circuit boards. “This help?”
Blake takes the shattered bit from Ronon's hand. “If that's aluminum or any type of silver alloy... Bingo!” He pats Ronon on the shoulder. “I think this is enough. Colonel, let's strip it.”
Ronon, Blake, and Johnson dismantle the thin, fragile wire from the board and Teyla crimps the pieces together into a longer string before weaving it into the C-4, creating a long sequence of explosives.
“Time?” John bellows.
“One more minute! Whatever this door is shielding, it's got to be important.”
“Great,” John mutters, not thrilled at Rodney's warning.
Johnson nods at Ronon. “Let’s get ready.” Not giving him a chance to argue, he drapes Ronon’s arm around his thick neck, gun ready in his free hand.
Ronon doesn't argue; both men act as a unit, ready to cover things once the door opens.
Teyla crimps the last blasting cap, and Blake and John take the string of explosives and roll them along the floor of the far wall all the way to everyone else huddled around Rodney.
“I'll give you all my porn if you get us out of here,” Blake encourages McKay.
“Don't need it. Got my own.”
“But you don't have all the limited issues of the Dark Night. With deleted panels,” Johnson’s booming voice temps.
“I'll take that. If we live,” Rodney adds, eyes lighting up. “Voila.”
Hustling over, John stares at the panel. “Which sensor opens it?”
“Top right button.”
“Stay behind me. Blake, open the door and cover the right side. Teyla, you and I will go in and take the left. Johnson and Ronon, give us cover. Doc, you and Rodney follow only after I give the signal.”
“And who's going to trigger your fireworks?”
John doesn't often look lost and Rodney doesn't waste time gloating. “It's a detonator. My niece could trigger it. Just tell me how and when.”
Trust comes in quiet acceptance and John instructs Rodney on timing and what to do, knowing he's forcing him and Carson to remain until the last second, when the enemy overrides the entrance.
“Remember---”
“Wait until they're inside and secure the door behind us. Yeah, got it.” Rodney snatches the remote. “Hopefully, we won't be stumbling into instant death.”
Teyla wants to say something, but there's a noise on the other side of the room. Waving his hand over the sensor, John shouts, “Now!”
The door slides open and she expects to be ripped apart by bullets or set aflame by an explosion, but there's nothing except a sprawling warehouse of barrels and crates and a thousand different hiding places.
Pointing her P-90 in every direction, Teyla pants with increased anxiety, her eyes and ears alert for sound and movement. Step, turn, point.
They divide and conquer. She and John break apart, taking on opposite angles to protect the other's back. Blake glides between all the crates on the right side, his gum smacking gone silent, while Ronon and Johnson clomp in unison behind them.
John starts hand signaling when the building explodes behind them, Rodney and Carson screaming.
“Bloody hell!”
The commotion is a deadly distraction for the Brakan concealed inside.
Pop pop pop pop pop pop pop!
Teyla ducks and rolls, gets to one knee, and squeezes the trigger in the direction of the muzzle flash. Gunfire echoes off the walls, the cacophony a confusing rush of noise. Honing in on the Brakan uniforms, she fires at any globs of camo gray. P-90s spit out hundreds of rounds to the enemy's less powerful rifles’.
Sheer firepower becomes the tipping point.
Inch by inch, she and John take point and converge toward the middle, stepping over bodies. Wooden packing crates thin out to large drum barrels which are harder to hide behind. One of the Brakan freaks out and drops his gun, screaming, making a dash across the warehouse, John training him with his weapon.
“Wait, don't!”
Never taking his eyes from his target, John yells over at Carson, “What?”
“Those barrels are full of chemicals!”
“Then I'll aim right at them. Blow away anyone using them for cover.”
John's threat is immediate and more Brakan make a break for it, Ronon stunning them all in the back as they retreat. At least it's less bloodshed.
Dragging Rodney with him, Carson gets closer and John motions for them to get down. “Stay behind us!”
“But ya can't fire on those barrels. The contents are toxic!” Carson hisses.
“Kind of knew that, Doc. That was the ruse.”
An ominous silence descends over the warehouse, the only noise Rodney's labored breathing. There's an exit in the back, about a hundred meters away into darkened areas. Teyla remembers the schematics, knows that they are at the end of the complex, only a couple more rooms separating them from freedom.
All eyes are on John for his next command, and he signals for a wedge to column formation. They all move into position, John leading the arrow-shaped arrangement, Teyla and Blake behind and to the side of his point. Ronon and Johnson are loud and clumsy in their lurching shuffle and Rodney can't keep his pained gasps any quieter. This isn't about surprise, but who'll flinch first.
Half a dozen gray camos jump up from behind a thick row of containers, three opening fire and the other three tipping the barrels over. One guy gives the middle container a shove and sends it rolling.
There's ear-piercing gunfire and shouting that seems to last forever. Teyla stands her ground, taking out the far left target while the other Brakan die, screaming. But one determined, shell-shocked guy doesn't go down. He takes a bullet in the shoulder and one to the chest, but he keeps coming, keeps staggering in his refusal to die.
With a shaky pistol, the dying soldier aims at the rolling barrel and pulls the trigger.
“Down!” John shouts.
But he's the closest and he can't get away fast enough. He dives away, the container bursting open. It's not a gigantic explosion, no fireballs or flying shrapnel. Pieces of plastic burn, and the room fills with a noxious odor that stings Teyla's eyes and singes her throat.
Carson is the first to bound to his feet. “Don't move! Everyone stay away from the debris!”
John screams, trying to wipe a fine spray off his face with his sleeve. A pool of liquid spreads underneath him, soaking his BDUs and he curls into a ball of dry hacking, his coughs punctuated by futile attempts to draw in air.
“Do something!” Rodney bellows at Carson.
Teyla scrambles to her feet, but Carson is faster. “Don't come any closer.” He fitfully scans the warehouse. “Does anyone spot any contamination suits? Gloves, goggles, anything?”
Blake and Johnson set off searching parts of the warehouse they haven't explored. Teyla notices for the first time the stacks of wooden pallets in the corner and the primitive vehicles parked on the whole right side.
Grunting, Ronon hobbles over with no intent of adhering to the physician's instructions and Carson has to bodily keep him away from John who hasn't stopped coughing.
“Let me go!” Ronon demands.
“No! You can’t touch him,” Carson orders. And it's a fight to keep Ronon from pushing the physician out of the way.
Rodney hurries over to Teyla, his face pale, eyes stricken with pain, but he doesn’t voice it. There's only silent communication as they head toward their teammates.
“Ronon,” Teyla says, touching his shoulder, anchoring him as her anxiety rises at John's plight.
He glares at her, his eyes volatile with anger and helplessness. “Let Carson do his job,” she tells him.
“He's not doing anything!”
“My eyes!” John chokes.
“Don't touch your face!” Carson warns, but John's in agony, groaning in between wheezes. “Listen to me, son. You have to listen. Do you have your canteen?” Carson asks, his voice calm despite the tension in his body. John takes a shuddering breath, hands poised over his face and nods. “Good lad. Now, pour some water over your face. That'll help.”
Teyla divides her attention, watching the exit for surprises and John who shakily twists the top off his canteen and splashes it over his face, his respirations harsh and raspy. “It's...it's not helping.” John's hands tremble in his battle to keep from rubbing the chemicals away.
“Carson?” Rodney whispers.
Ronon glares at Carson, demanding him to fix things. Now.
“Got it!”
Johnson has returned, dumping a pile of rubber gloves and a couple sets of goggles. Carson wastes no time, slipping on the gloves and watching where the liquid has dispersed all over the floor. Without stepping in the puddle with his non-military issues boots, he stretches as far as he can to grab him. Teyla slaps on a pair of gloves and marches closer to help Carson yank John out of the puddle.
Dragging John away from the liquid, they settle him several meters away from the smoldering remains of the barrel. “Everyone must stay behind me. Do not make any skin contact.” John struggles briefly, his breathing labored, and Carson carefully pushes his hands away. “I know it hurts, Colonel. Please let me help.”
Blake runs over, breathless, hands on his knees. “I found a shower of some kind, Doc.”
“A decontamination shower?”
“Don't know, but why else would it be there?”
“If this were a loading area for their chemical weapons operations, they'd have one just in case of accidents,” Rodney explains, eyes locked on John's face which is skewered up in pain.
“Aye, we need to get him out of these clothes and scrubbed head to toe.”
Blake snatches the last pair of gloves and he and Johnson pick up John before the words are out of Carson's mouth. The fact that John doesn't protest only increases everyone's anxiety.
Ronon balls his hands in frustration at watching other people help his friend while he's sidelined. Teyla didn't even have a chance to offer help, and for the briefest moment, she wonders if John realizes the type of loyalty he champions from his men. Teyla refrains from following them; she has two other injured teammates to watch over.
“This is all my fault.”
Teyla scoots next to Rodney where he sits on the floor. “There is no blame for this.”
“Really? Who was the one visiting Carson during one of his Doctors Without Borders thing? And who got drunk off wine in what passed as a 'town' and got into a contest for naming the most unstable chemical compound?”
“Carson was visiting The Sidnu, an agricultural based people to give them inoculations against the flu.” Teyla tries to calm him while pulling out another pressure bandage. “There was no intelligence about the Brakan or that they would be visiting as well for trade.”
Rodney hisses when she removes his sodden dressing, but she is pleased to see the bleeding has almost stopped. “But we were out in the open in a freaking bar. We shouldn't have...we...”
“You were enjoying company with a friend.”
“Yeah, and another nihilistic society overheard and tried to nab us to help with their plans of genocide for one of their nasty wars with their neighbors... OW!”
“You had no way of---”
“I was puking my guts out when they took him! I wasn't there! I---”
“Stop it!” Ronon growls. “We found him. That's all that matters.”
Teyla finishes replacing the bandage, binding it tightly. Truth be told, all they had found was the location of the planet and compound from their informants. There'd been no way of knowing the scope or the capabilities of the military force, or that they'd been working on a chemical weapons program, but they were not about to lose Carson again.
“I'm not waiting.”
Ronon rises unsteadily before Teyla could examine his wounds, but he only made it a few steps before nearly collapsing. Grabbing his arm, she doesn't scold; she simply supports his weight and nods at Rodney. And with slow steps, they hitch together to the other side of the warehouse.
The shower is a cordoned-off area with several hoses hanging from the ceiling and a drain in the floor. John is clad in a borrowed set of gray fatigues under an emergency blanket, propped up against the wall. Carson listens to John's chest with his ear, finger at his throat, his men anxiously pacing beside them.
The wheezing is awful, from a dry hack to a thick wet sound. Most of John's face is covered with pink splotches from where the chemicals made contact and his eyes are slowly swelling closed. Carson finishes his examination only to help the colonel ride out another horrible coughing fit until it eases.
“Carson?”
The physician squeezes John's knee and steps closer to the team. “He's suffering from the onset of acute pulmonary edema.”
Before they can ask for clarification, John jackknifes with a gasp, fingers scratching at his chest.
Carson is there, grabbing his hands before he further injures himself. “What is it, lad?”
John's words are lost in his throat. “C-can't...c-c-can’t...”
“Slow, steady breaths, son. That's it, slow and steady.”
“We need to get the colonel home, now!” Johnson looks ready to haul his CO over his shoulder and run with him.
Pulling John away from his hunched over position, Carson sits on the ground and cradles him against his shoulder to keep him upright. “He's been exposed to a high concentration of a pulmonary agent and it's causing his lungs to fill with fluid.”
Teyla can't bear witness to John's growing distress. “The sergeant is right. We should get him to the jumper and---”
“Ya don't understand.” Carson monitors his patient’s pulse again. John is completely oblivious, an odd wet whistling sound replacing his breathing. “The perfusion is rapid. Fluid and pressure are restricting the membranes and alveoli of his lungs, and he'll suffocate before we ever reach the jumper.”
It's like being dunked in ice water. Teyla's brain processes the words but not the emotion. “There must be something we can do!”
“Let's go,” Ronon demands.
“I'll carry the colonel,” both Johnson and Blake announce at once.
John's lolls sideways and Carson pulls him toward his chest. “Easy, lad.” His voice shakes. Red rimmed eyes beseech the team. “Didn't ya rescue me from the other side of the base?”
The jumper is on the west side and they just blew up the room connecting them to the wing. Not to mention all the Brakan who might still be around.
“There has to be something!” Rodney is shaky on his feet and takes a few steps before kneeling next to John to hide it. “Come on! You must know some type of barbaric procedure to perform? What about one of those chest things?”
Moisture wells up in the corners of Teyla's eyes when Carson shakes his head. “That’s to relieve a collapsed lung. I was forced to work with this stuff for two days. They wanted me to make it insoluble, but I...I…” With a shake of his head, he hisses, “It doesn't matter.”
Taking John’s hand, Teyla squeezes his fingers. “We are here, John.”
Ronon isn't able to pace and lowers himself on John's other side, bad leg stretched out in front of him. ”What are you telling us?”
“What I'm sayin' is that...” Carson gnaws his lip. “Ya might want to say goodbye while you can.”
Ronon turns to punch the wall, pressing his head above the dent to bury his face. Rodney is lost in silence, his face washed in a pain that is beyond anything physical.
John's face is covered with sweat and Teyla pushes away his matted hair. His breaths are a painful gurgle, his skin gone a pale gray, the chemical burns to his face a ghastly comparison. Despite the swelling around his eyes, a glimmer of hazel reflects naked fear.
Teyla doesn't realize she's crushing John's hand until he squeezes back. Oh, the ancestors, he's heard everything. Teyla bows her head to his, channeling all her strength into him.
No, she won't allow this to happen. Not after Elizabeth, or Carson the first time. Not after the near genocide of her people. She can't!
John gasps for air now, his whole body convulsing.
“Sheppard!” Ronon grabs John's bicep, able to articulate so much through physical contact.
“Think, Carson! What's the point of medical school if you can't do anything!”
“Rodney, I would if I could. But I need Furosemide or any kind of diuretic. Even a damn oxygen tank!”
“And what would those do!” Rodney can't help screaming his frustration, but Carson won't answer and it causes him to unravel. “Since we're simply going to watch him die, might as well tell us, for I don't know. The next time one of us has to suffocate!”
“Rodney, please,” Carson whispers.
John's lips are turning blue and he's squeezing her hand. “What about morphine? Maybe to...” Teyla's words die on her lips.
“Morphine,” Carson echoes. “That might... Bloody hell. Give me all the morphine you have!”
Johnson and Blake dig through their vests and Rodney pulls out an ampoule just as Teyla produces her own. She stares into Carson's desperate eyes, knowing there has to be more than...that they're not just going to end John's misery.
It reduces pain and anxiety. Can it do something else? Her mind races.
Carson takes her ampoule and injects it into John's thigh. “It's beneficial for acute pulmonary edema. It's never used for it in the ER, but has been on the battlefield!” With a bitter laugh, he adds, “A corpsman told me about it.”
“Who cares!”
Ignoring Ronon's outburst, Carson opens his palm. “I need another one. We need to give him a massive dose to suppress his respiratory system. It might buy us enough time to--”
“Then let's bug out.” Blake's fingers are white from gripping his .45. It must be empty by now, but it gives the marine something to channel his emotions. “If the colonel doesn't have time, then we need to--”
“Those vehicles.” Teyla points to the trucks. “We could use them to get to the jumper faster.”
“There are these things called cement walls in the way.” But despite Rodney's acidic retort, he dissects the room with his gaze. “Wait. This is a loading warehouse, right?”
“They would need to have a way to transport the barrels,” Teyla finishes.
“I'll go search for a barn door outta here.” Blake trades looks with Johnson, who follows without another word.
Ronon forces himself up to his feet using the wall. “We should get those things workin'.”
“Oh, um...yeah.” But Rodney's frozen by fear, unable to use his brain to help John and equally paralyzed by his own inability to offer comfort.
“Come on, we can actually do something.”
Ronon's pragmatism breaks Rodney's spell and he swallows, tearing his gaze from John's boneless body, to what he can do to actually have an impact. “Right. Yeah, I'm sure they've got something marginally better than a model T.”
Teyla must assist them, but the last thing she wants to do is leave John. She knows he's in good hands, but there's this pit in her belly, that if she leaves his sight, she'll never see him whole and alive again.
But that's the risk they take and she pulls her fingers out of his lax grip, and digs deep for the strength needed to get him-get them all home. With a kiss to his forehead she straightens, squaring her shoulders.
“I need to help.” Slinging Ronon's arm around her small neck, she presses them on. “We must hurry. Rodney, are you able to--”
“I still have two legs.”
She allows a desperate smile to curve her lips and hurries them to the only thing that might save them. Her mind wanders, wanting to know who's covering the doors or what's taking Blake and Johnson so long. She stands guard, watching for possible reinforcements as Rodney orders Ronon to help him. The vehicle is small, like a stripped-down jeep with a large flatbed. The most basic mode for transporting supplies.
Teyla's cresting the wave of endorphins and fear - fear that they won't pull this off in time. Before she can admonish herself for such negative thoughts, Rodney's yelling at her-but it's in excitement.
“It doesn't even require a key!”
The roar of an engine is music to her ears and a needed boost of hope. By the time she hops on the back of the truck next to Ronon, they're motoring toward John and Carson with Blake running to meet them.
“Are you trying to get run over! This thing has like two gears!” Rodney yells over the noise of braking.
Teyla doesn't pay much attention to what's happening. She helps get John onto the flat bed, settling him down between herself and Carson.
Johnson kicks Rodney out of the driver's seat to take over. “I can handle a stick better.”
Blake joins them since the cab can only fit one person. “We found a garage door type thing. Now it's time to haul ass and shoot anyone in our way.”
It's fitting to fight their way out as a team.
“I had to give him a third dose to restrict the load to his lungs,” Carson informs them. “His vitals are as low as they can go.”
Despite the chemical burns, John seems peaceful against Carson's chest, his body slack, the blood stains wiped clean by his shower. Teyla takes his hand again. “You are strong. Do not give in.”
Her words are not audible over the vibration of the truck; neither are Ronon's and Rodney's as they offer John all their strength.
Blake stuffs another wad of gum in his mouth, pulls out his .45, and flashes three fingers in the air to indicate the number of bullets he has left. Ronon readies his blaster and Teyla checks her nearly empty clip.
Once again, Teyla offers a silent prayer when they are not pursued through the forest and locate the jumper using Rodney's scanner. Thank goodness Corporal Blake has the gene because Rodney is on the verge of passing out once they pile inside.
“Teyla love, start an IV on Rodney while I work on the colonel. Sergeant, do you know how to---”
“I'm on it,” Johnson answers, readying one for Ronon. Both stubborn men stare at each other. “When you're on the mend, I'll join your next class.” That earns him a wolfish grin and Ronon sticks out an arm.
After inserting an IV into Rodney, Teyla has to fight for position near John. Ronon has taken one side and Carson the other. Rodney settles for staying put in front of his friend, his head resting on the wall.
“We'll be through the gate in two minutes,” Blake calls out.
There's no time to intubate and Carson adjusts the oxygen mask and turns the pressure up on the tank. “It's going to be close.”
Teyla doesn't dare close her eyes or give in to exhaustion. None of them do.
They follow behind John's gurney in the hanger bay, and they stay back when the alarms blare in the infirmary. Embattled, weary and frayed to the bone---they stay.
With one eye on the curtains shielding her view, Teyla remains with her team as they are treated. Ronon and Rodney need to be prepped for surgery, but they refuse to be wheeled away. To be put under without knowing.
Blake smacks a new piece gum, blowing a bubble that Johnson snags and pops. Neither leaves.
“He'll be fine,” Rodney mumbles, high on painkillers. “He's Sheppard. Able to leap city towers in a single bound.”
Doctor Sato tries to wheel him into pre-op, but Rodney's not that far gone, accidentally knocking down the IV stand in his protest. “Not yet,” he growls.
Before another argument commences, Carson and Jennifer enter and they become the center of attention. “I was able to reduce the fluid load to the colonel's lungs. He'll be in the ICU for a while,” she explains.
“This is great news, thank you.” Teyla doesn't know what else to say, her shoulders bending under the weight of exhaustion.
But she will stand by her team. With Ronon and Rodney until she can no longer follow. Then after a shower and a change into soft blue scrubs, she takes the chair next to John's bed.
And falls asleep listening to the hiss of the oxygen mask. When she awakens, it's to a keen sense of being watched.
Opening her eyes, she sees slits of hazel in the healing burns on John's face. Teyla slides her hand under the rail to take his hand. “Don't talk,” she whispers when his lips try to move. “There is no need for words. We are all safe. All home.”
Despite her warning and his own weakness, he tries to whisper under the obstructive plastic and she removes it for a second, listening to the wispy remains of his voice. His valiant effort causes her to smile.
“You are very welcome, John. I...We would have done whatever it took.”
When he drifts off, Teyla goes back to sleep in the hard plastic chair, knowing the next time she awakens, there will be two gurneys parked alongside them.
Fini-
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Prompt:
I'm thinking military (I also loved End Game, showed Sheppards' soldier skills) orientated. Of course Sheppard goes off world with his team and a small military contingent for a small humanitarian mission. Carson there would be good. I'd like to see more of the impression of how much his men under his command think of him, admire him and how they will go to the ends of the earth and even die for him. Somehow Sheppard gets gravely injured or attacked and his condition rapidly deteriorates due to possibly poison? The gate is inaccessible (unsure why) so there is no help from Atlantis. Carson informs the team that there isn't anything he can do and they had better say their good byes. Generally angsty from the team/men and especially Teyla. Maybe instead of Rodney saving Sheppard, it is something that Teyla comes up with because she refuses to let him go maybe even telling him so.
Author:Kristen999
Word Count: 5,500
Rating: T
Warning: Some violence
Genre: Gen, Action, H/C
Characters: Team, OCs
Spoilers: None
Summary: Trapped, pursued, and making it up as they go along. The team fight for their lives during a mission gone horribly wrong.
Written for dernhelm62 for the help_pakistan charity.
I wanted to thank the wonderful Wildcat88 for the swift and awesome beta!!
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Ears ringing, Teyla squeezes her trigger finger to the bone, spraying a hail of bullets behind her. Return fire peppers the wall by her head, shards of cement showering her hair. She pivots, striking the guy in the chest with a single shot, and continues covering them.
Keep going. Focus on the enemy. Block out everything else.
John roars over the concussion of sound, “How much longer, McKay?”
“The same as all the other times!”
Huddled in front of another sealed door, the seven of them are stuck in the middle of an intersection and exposed to crossfire. John takes out those coming from the east corridor, and with every burst of his weapon, another body falls. “Try faster!”
Ronon's blaster lights up the hallway as he hangs on to the burly Sergeant Johnson. Corporal Blake covers Rodney, a .45 gripped in his right hand, both Marines out of ammo except for their side arms.
“Almost there,” Rodney hisses, sparks exploding by his face. “Oh, God, I'm blind!”
Carson scurries over. “Let me take a look.”
“No, I'm good, just...just...”
“Open the goddamned door, McKay!” John snaps. “Damn it!”
Teyla can't see what's wrong; the far end of the hall fills with more men than she can shoot. It's like the whole Brakan army has funneled inside. The P-90's kickback slams her chest as she takes out soldier after soldier. Out of the corner of her eye, John moves out of position and Johnson swears, charging after him.
The soldiers stop firing in Teyla's direction, and she risks a glance at John and sees why. A whole squad of Brakan wielding pieces of scrap metal to stop the bullets has taken things to close quarters combat.
Ronon howls, leaping forward to help, but his injured leg crumbles beneath him. Carson crawls over, but Ronon will have none of his assistance, leaving the physician oddly out of place.
Teyla takes advantage of her enemy's vulnerability, shooting at them while they avoid firing on their own. John is lost in the crunch of bodies, but they begin dropping from the use of his k-bar. This isn't the John during sparring; this is brutal and violent and a bit crazed under a thin veil of control. Johnson with his massive hands snaps one man's neck and buries his knife into an exposed back of another foe.
By the time the dead pile up, Rodney exclaims, “We're in!”
“Move!” John orders and they lurch forward.
Teyla protects them with suppression fire, running backwards, barely inside the next room before Rodney closes it and starts working on the controls.
“Lock them out!”
“No, really?” Rodney snaps.
Ronon and Johnson hobble together, weapons out, canvassing one side while she and John take the other. The room is mostly barren except for a few consoles and it only takes seconds to clear it.
“We've got dozens of Brakan about to bust in.” John glances up from the LSD and at the huge set of doors at the opposite end. “There's a large room ahead. We get in there and I don't think it's too much further to the outside.”
“I'm on it,” Rodney declares and nearly falls on his face, but Blake snags him by the vest.
Carson steadies him, fretting over his shoulder, the once stark white dressing staining red. “Whoa, take it easy. Let me check your bandage.”
“There's no time.” Without preamble Rodney goes over to the door. “Oh, no. This one's not like the others. It's definitely made of reinforced steel and the control panel is different.”
John nearly cracks the LSD in half. “I can't get any readings from in there. We'll be going in blind.”
Teyla looks over his shoulder, noticing in alarm the blood splatter all over his uniform. Their eyes meet and he mutters, “It's not mine.”
The left side of his face is streaked with it and Teyla resists the urge to wipe it away. “How long before the others reach us?”
“They've been getting through McKay's hacks in five minutes or less.” John's body practically vibrates with tension. “We've got to find a way to slow 'em down.”
Only an hour ago did everything explode in their faces, the mission to rescue Carson a deadly miscalculation. They've lost five marines and most of the team are injured. Ronon has two bullet holes in his left leg and Rodney got hit in the shoulder, but if they don't escape soon, it won't matter how banged up they are. The Brakan are advanced and quite deadly.
Adrenaline flooding her body, she watches the back door, waiting for it to blow apart with more soldiers. The Brakan haven't used explosives, but that doesn't mean they don't have them.
“Blake, Johnson, give me all your C-4.”
John's men dig through pockets, gathering the deadly wads. Johnson is younger than Ronon but just as large, dark skinned with piercing blue eyes. He slaps all that he has into his CO's hands.
Blake runs over, wiping strands of his matted dirty blond hair from his sweaty forehead, smacking gum in a nervous habit. He's John's age and build, a self-proclaimed farm boy who waits on his CO's command with eagerness. “Sir, what's the plan?”
“I'm going to wire this whole room up. When the Brakan enter, it'll come down on top of them. Hopefully, it'll buy us time to hightail it out of here.”
“You're going to create a circuit out of C-4?”
“Door. Now. McKay!” John barks, kneeling on the floor to assemble his parts. “I need more fuse wire.”
“Can you get it from this stuff?” Never able to stand still in a fight, Ronon limps toward a console and starts breaking it into pieces.
Shaking his head, John tells them it's not the same thing, but Ronon pries apart the equipment anyway. Teyla can't help Rodney with opening the door, but she keeps an eye on the other entrance and squats next to John. “What do you need me to do?”
Never hesitating, John talks her through the steps. “This blue wire is an electric match. It initiates the primary explosion. Stick it in the C-4 and bind it between these bridge wires. I'll try to find enough to spread around the room.”
“Then what?”
“We need to pile as many bad guys in here and blow them all to hell.”
Sweat dribbling down her nose, Teyla crimps the wires together, stringing them from each piece of C-4, knowing there's not enough wiring.
Ronon has destroyed half the consoles, bringing over dangling circuit boards. “This help?”
Blake takes the shattered bit from Ronon's hand. “If that's aluminum or any type of silver alloy... Bingo!” He pats Ronon on the shoulder. “I think this is enough. Colonel, let's strip it.”
Ronon, Blake, and Johnson dismantle the thin, fragile wire from the board and Teyla crimps the pieces together into a longer string before weaving it into the C-4, creating a long sequence of explosives.
“Time?” John bellows.
“One more minute! Whatever this door is shielding, it's got to be important.”
“Great,” John mutters, not thrilled at Rodney's warning.
Johnson nods at Ronon. “Let’s get ready.” Not giving him a chance to argue, he drapes Ronon’s arm around his thick neck, gun ready in his free hand.
Ronon doesn't argue; both men act as a unit, ready to cover things once the door opens.
Teyla crimps the last blasting cap, and Blake and John take the string of explosives and roll them along the floor of the far wall all the way to everyone else huddled around Rodney.
“I'll give you all my porn if you get us out of here,” Blake encourages McKay.
“Don't need it. Got my own.”
“But you don't have all the limited issues of the Dark Night. With deleted panels,” Johnson’s booming voice temps.
“I'll take that. If we live,” Rodney adds, eyes lighting up. “Voila.”
Hustling over, John stares at the panel. “Which sensor opens it?”
“Top right button.”
“Stay behind me. Blake, open the door and cover the right side. Teyla, you and I will go in and take the left. Johnson and Ronon, give us cover. Doc, you and Rodney follow only after I give the signal.”
“And who's going to trigger your fireworks?”
John doesn't often look lost and Rodney doesn't waste time gloating. “It's a detonator. My niece could trigger it. Just tell me how and when.”
Trust comes in quiet acceptance and John instructs Rodney on timing and what to do, knowing he's forcing him and Carson to remain until the last second, when the enemy overrides the entrance.
“Remember---”
“Wait until they're inside and secure the door behind us. Yeah, got it.” Rodney snatches the remote. “Hopefully, we won't be stumbling into instant death.”
Teyla wants to say something, but there's a noise on the other side of the room. Waving his hand over the sensor, John shouts, “Now!”
The door slides open and she expects to be ripped apart by bullets or set aflame by an explosion, but there's nothing except a sprawling warehouse of barrels and crates and a thousand different hiding places.
Pointing her P-90 in every direction, Teyla pants with increased anxiety, her eyes and ears alert for sound and movement. Step, turn, point.
They divide and conquer. She and John break apart, taking on opposite angles to protect the other's back. Blake glides between all the crates on the right side, his gum smacking gone silent, while Ronon and Johnson clomp in unison behind them.
John starts hand signaling when the building explodes behind them, Rodney and Carson screaming.
“Bloody hell!”
The commotion is a deadly distraction for the Brakan concealed inside.
Pop pop pop pop pop pop pop!
Teyla ducks and rolls, gets to one knee, and squeezes the trigger in the direction of the muzzle flash. Gunfire echoes off the walls, the cacophony a confusing rush of noise. Honing in on the Brakan uniforms, she fires at any globs of camo gray. P-90s spit out hundreds of rounds to the enemy's less powerful rifles’.
Sheer firepower becomes the tipping point.
Inch by inch, she and John take point and converge toward the middle, stepping over bodies. Wooden packing crates thin out to large drum barrels which are harder to hide behind. One of the Brakan freaks out and drops his gun, screaming, making a dash across the warehouse, John training him with his weapon.
“Wait, don't!”
Never taking his eyes from his target, John yells over at Carson, “What?”
“Those barrels are full of chemicals!”
“Then I'll aim right at them. Blow away anyone using them for cover.”
John's threat is immediate and more Brakan make a break for it, Ronon stunning them all in the back as they retreat. At least it's less bloodshed.
Dragging Rodney with him, Carson gets closer and John motions for them to get down. “Stay behind us!”
“But ya can't fire on those barrels. The contents are toxic!” Carson hisses.
“Kind of knew that, Doc. That was the ruse.”
An ominous silence descends over the warehouse, the only noise Rodney's labored breathing. There's an exit in the back, about a hundred meters away into darkened areas. Teyla remembers the schematics, knows that they are at the end of the complex, only a couple more rooms separating them from freedom.
All eyes are on John for his next command, and he signals for a wedge to column formation. They all move into position, John leading the arrow-shaped arrangement, Teyla and Blake behind and to the side of his point. Ronon and Johnson are loud and clumsy in their lurching shuffle and Rodney can't keep his pained gasps any quieter. This isn't about surprise, but who'll flinch first.
Half a dozen gray camos jump up from behind a thick row of containers, three opening fire and the other three tipping the barrels over. One guy gives the middle container a shove and sends it rolling.
There's ear-piercing gunfire and shouting that seems to last forever. Teyla stands her ground, taking out the far left target while the other Brakan die, screaming. But one determined, shell-shocked guy doesn't go down. He takes a bullet in the shoulder and one to the chest, but he keeps coming, keeps staggering in his refusal to die.
With a shaky pistol, the dying soldier aims at the rolling barrel and pulls the trigger.
“Down!” John shouts.
But he's the closest and he can't get away fast enough. He dives away, the container bursting open. It's not a gigantic explosion, no fireballs or flying shrapnel. Pieces of plastic burn, and the room fills with a noxious odor that stings Teyla's eyes and singes her throat.
Carson is the first to bound to his feet. “Don't move! Everyone stay away from the debris!”
John screams, trying to wipe a fine spray off his face with his sleeve. A pool of liquid spreads underneath him, soaking his BDUs and he curls into a ball of dry hacking, his coughs punctuated by futile attempts to draw in air.
“Do something!” Rodney bellows at Carson.
Teyla scrambles to her feet, but Carson is faster. “Don't come any closer.” He fitfully scans the warehouse. “Does anyone spot any contamination suits? Gloves, goggles, anything?”
Blake and Johnson set off searching parts of the warehouse they haven't explored. Teyla notices for the first time the stacks of wooden pallets in the corner and the primitive vehicles parked on the whole right side.
Grunting, Ronon hobbles over with no intent of adhering to the physician's instructions and Carson has to bodily keep him away from John who hasn't stopped coughing.
“Let me go!” Ronon demands.
“No! You can’t touch him,” Carson orders. And it's a fight to keep Ronon from pushing the physician out of the way.
Rodney hurries over to Teyla, his face pale, eyes stricken with pain, but he doesn’t voice it. There's only silent communication as they head toward their teammates.
“Ronon,” Teyla says, touching his shoulder, anchoring him as her anxiety rises at John's plight.
He glares at her, his eyes volatile with anger and helplessness. “Let Carson do his job,” she tells him.
“He's not doing anything!”
“My eyes!” John chokes.
“Don't touch your face!” Carson warns, but John's in agony, groaning in between wheezes. “Listen to me, son. You have to listen. Do you have your canteen?” Carson asks, his voice calm despite the tension in his body. John takes a shuddering breath, hands poised over his face and nods. “Good lad. Now, pour some water over your face. That'll help.”
Teyla divides her attention, watching the exit for surprises and John who shakily twists the top off his canteen and splashes it over his face, his respirations harsh and raspy. “It's...it's not helping.” John's hands tremble in his battle to keep from rubbing the chemicals away.
“Carson?” Rodney whispers.
Ronon glares at Carson, demanding him to fix things. Now.
“Got it!”
Johnson has returned, dumping a pile of rubber gloves and a couple sets of goggles. Carson wastes no time, slipping on the gloves and watching where the liquid has dispersed all over the floor. Without stepping in the puddle with his non-military issues boots, he stretches as far as he can to grab him. Teyla slaps on a pair of gloves and marches closer to help Carson yank John out of the puddle.
Dragging John away from the liquid, they settle him several meters away from the smoldering remains of the barrel. “Everyone must stay behind me. Do not make any skin contact.” John struggles briefly, his breathing labored, and Carson carefully pushes his hands away. “I know it hurts, Colonel. Please let me help.”
Blake runs over, breathless, hands on his knees. “I found a shower of some kind, Doc.”
“A decontamination shower?”
“Don't know, but why else would it be there?”
“If this were a loading area for their chemical weapons operations, they'd have one just in case of accidents,” Rodney explains, eyes locked on John's face which is skewered up in pain.
“Aye, we need to get him out of these clothes and scrubbed head to toe.”
Blake snatches the last pair of gloves and he and Johnson pick up John before the words are out of Carson's mouth. The fact that John doesn't protest only increases everyone's anxiety.
Ronon balls his hands in frustration at watching other people help his friend while he's sidelined. Teyla didn't even have a chance to offer help, and for the briefest moment, she wonders if John realizes the type of loyalty he champions from his men. Teyla refrains from following them; she has two other injured teammates to watch over.
“This is all my fault.”
Teyla scoots next to Rodney where he sits on the floor. “There is no blame for this.”
“Really? Who was the one visiting Carson during one of his Doctors Without Borders thing? And who got drunk off wine in what passed as a 'town' and got into a contest for naming the most unstable chemical compound?”
“Carson was visiting The Sidnu, an agricultural based people to give them inoculations against the flu.” Teyla tries to calm him while pulling out another pressure bandage. “There was no intelligence about the Brakan or that they would be visiting as well for trade.”
Rodney hisses when she removes his sodden dressing, but she is pleased to see the bleeding has almost stopped. “But we were out in the open in a freaking bar. We shouldn't have...we...”
“You were enjoying company with a friend.”
“Yeah, and another nihilistic society overheard and tried to nab us to help with their plans of genocide for one of their nasty wars with their neighbors... OW!”
“You had no way of---”
“I was puking my guts out when they took him! I wasn't there! I---”
“Stop it!” Ronon growls. “We found him. That's all that matters.”
Teyla finishes replacing the bandage, binding it tightly. Truth be told, all they had found was the location of the planet and compound from their informants. There'd been no way of knowing the scope or the capabilities of the military force, or that they'd been working on a chemical weapons program, but they were not about to lose Carson again.
“I'm not waiting.”
Ronon rises unsteadily before Teyla could examine his wounds, but he only made it a few steps before nearly collapsing. Grabbing his arm, she doesn't scold; she simply supports his weight and nods at Rodney. And with slow steps, they hitch together to the other side of the warehouse.
The shower is a cordoned-off area with several hoses hanging from the ceiling and a drain in the floor. John is clad in a borrowed set of gray fatigues under an emergency blanket, propped up against the wall. Carson listens to John's chest with his ear, finger at his throat, his men anxiously pacing beside them.
The wheezing is awful, from a dry hack to a thick wet sound. Most of John's face is covered with pink splotches from where the chemicals made contact and his eyes are slowly swelling closed. Carson finishes his examination only to help the colonel ride out another horrible coughing fit until it eases.
“Carson?”
The physician squeezes John's knee and steps closer to the team. “He's suffering from the onset of acute pulmonary edema.”
Before they can ask for clarification, John jackknifes with a gasp, fingers scratching at his chest.
Carson is there, grabbing his hands before he further injures himself. “What is it, lad?”
John's words are lost in his throat. “C-can't...c-c-can’t...”
“Slow, steady breaths, son. That's it, slow and steady.”
“We need to get the colonel home, now!” Johnson looks ready to haul his CO over his shoulder and run with him.
Pulling John away from his hunched over position, Carson sits on the ground and cradles him against his shoulder to keep him upright. “He's been exposed to a high concentration of a pulmonary agent and it's causing his lungs to fill with fluid.”
Teyla can't bear witness to John's growing distress. “The sergeant is right. We should get him to the jumper and---”
“Ya don't understand.” Carson monitors his patient’s pulse again. John is completely oblivious, an odd wet whistling sound replacing his breathing. “The perfusion is rapid. Fluid and pressure are restricting the membranes and alveoli of his lungs, and he'll suffocate before we ever reach the jumper.”
It's like being dunked in ice water. Teyla's brain processes the words but not the emotion. “There must be something we can do!”
“Let's go,” Ronon demands.
“I'll carry the colonel,” both Johnson and Blake announce at once.
John's lolls sideways and Carson pulls him toward his chest. “Easy, lad.” His voice shakes. Red rimmed eyes beseech the team. “Didn't ya rescue me from the other side of the base?”
The jumper is on the west side and they just blew up the room connecting them to the wing. Not to mention all the Brakan who might still be around.
“There has to be something!” Rodney is shaky on his feet and takes a few steps before kneeling next to John to hide it. “Come on! You must know some type of barbaric procedure to perform? What about one of those chest things?”
Moisture wells up in the corners of Teyla's eyes when Carson shakes his head. “That’s to relieve a collapsed lung. I was forced to work with this stuff for two days. They wanted me to make it insoluble, but I...I…” With a shake of his head, he hisses, “It doesn't matter.”
Taking John’s hand, Teyla squeezes his fingers. “We are here, John.”
Ronon isn't able to pace and lowers himself on John's other side, bad leg stretched out in front of him. ”What are you telling us?”
“What I'm sayin' is that...” Carson gnaws his lip. “Ya might want to say goodbye while you can.”
Ronon turns to punch the wall, pressing his head above the dent to bury his face. Rodney is lost in silence, his face washed in a pain that is beyond anything physical.
John's face is covered with sweat and Teyla pushes away his matted hair. His breaths are a painful gurgle, his skin gone a pale gray, the chemical burns to his face a ghastly comparison. Despite the swelling around his eyes, a glimmer of hazel reflects naked fear.
Teyla doesn't realize she's crushing John's hand until he squeezes back. Oh, the ancestors, he's heard everything. Teyla bows her head to his, channeling all her strength into him.
No, she won't allow this to happen. Not after Elizabeth, or Carson the first time. Not after the near genocide of her people. She can't!
John gasps for air now, his whole body convulsing.
“Sheppard!” Ronon grabs John's bicep, able to articulate so much through physical contact.
“Think, Carson! What's the point of medical school if you can't do anything!”
“Rodney, I would if I could. But I need Furosemide or any kind of diuretic. Even a damn oxygen tank!”
“And what would those do!” Rodney can't help screaming his frustration, but Carson won't answer and it causes him to unravel. “Since we're simply going to watch him die, might as well tell us, for I don't know. The next time one of us has to suffocate!”
“Rodney, please,” Carson whispers.
John's lips are turning blue and he's squeezing her hand. “What about morphine? Maybe to...” Teyla's words die on her lips.
“Morphine,” Carson echoes. “That might... Bloody hell. Give me all the morphine you have!”
Johnson and Blake dig through their vests and Rodney pulls out an ampoule just as Teyla produces her own. She stares into Carson's desperate eyes, knowing there has to be more than...that they're not just going to end John's misery.
It reduces pain and anxiety. Can it do something else? Her mind races.
Carson takes her ampoule and injects it into John's thigh. “It's beneficial for acute pulmonary edema. It's never used for it in the ER, but has been on the battlefield!” With a bitter laugh, he adds, “A corpsman told me about it.”
“Who cares!”
Ignoring Ronon's outburst, Carson opens his palm. “I need another one. We need to give him a massive dose to suppress his respiratory system. It might buy us enough time to--”
“Then let's bug out.” Blake's fingers are white from gripping his .45. It must be empty by now, but it gives the marine something to channel his emotions. “If the colonel doesn't have time, then we need to--”
“Those vehicles.” Teyla points to the trucks. “We could use them to get to the jumper faster.”
“There are these things called cement walls in the way.” But despite Rodney's acidic retort, he dissects the room with his gaze. “Wait. This is a loading warehouse, right?”
“They would need to have a way to transport the barrels,” Teyla finishes.
“I'll go search for a barn door outta here.” Blake trades looks with Johnson, who follows without another word.
Ronon forces himself up to his feet using the wall. “We should get those things workin'.”
“Oh, um...yeah.” But Rodney's frozen by fear, unable to use his brain to help John and equally paralyzed by his own inability to offer comfort.
“Come on, we can actually do something.”
Ronon's pragmatism breaks Rodney's spell and he swallows, tearing his gaze from John's boneless body, to what he can do to actually have an impact. “Right. Yeah, I'm sure they've got something marginally better than a model T.”
Teyla must assist them, but the last thing she wants to do is leave John. She knows he's in good hands, but there's this pit in her belly, that if she leaves his sight, she'll never see him whole and alive again.
But that's the risk they take and she pulls her fingers out of his lax grip, and digs deep for the strength needed to get him-get them all home. With a kiss to his forehead she straightens, squaring her shoulders.
“I need to help.” Slinging Ronon's arm around her small neck, she presses them on. “We must hurry. Rodney, are you able to--”
“I still have two legs.”
She allows a desperate smile to curve her lips and hurries them to the only thing that might save them. Her mind wanders, wanting to know who's covering the doors or what's taking Blake and Johnson so long. She stands guard, watching for possible reinforcements as Rodney orders Ronon to help him. The vehicle is small, like a stripped-down jeep with a large flatbed. The most basic mode for transporting supplies.
Teyla's cresting the wave of endorphins and fear - fear that they won't pull this off in time. Before she can admonish herself for such negative thoughts, Rodney's yelling at her-but it's in excitement.
“It doesn't even require a key!”
The roar of an engine is music to her ears and a needed boost of hope. By the time she hops on the back of the truck next to Ronon, they're motoring toward John and Carson with Blake running to meet them.
“Are you trying to get run over! This thing has like two gears!” Rodney yells over the noise of braking.
Teyla doesn't pay much attention to what's happening. She helps get John onto the flat bed, settling him down between herself and Carson.
Johnson kicks Rodney out of the driver's seat to take over. “I can handle a stick better.”
Blake joins them since the cab can only fit one person. “We found a garage door type thing. Now it's time to haul ass and shoot anyone in our way.”
It's fitting to fight their way out as a team.
“I had to give him a third dose to restrict the load to his lungs,” Carson informs them. “His vitals are as low as they can go.”
Despite the chemical burns, John seems peaceful against Carson's chest, his body slack, the blood stains wiped clean by his shower. Teyla takes his hand again. “You are strong. Do not give in.”
Her words are not audible over the vibration of the truck; neither are Ronon's and Rodney's as they offer John all their strength.
Blake stuffs another wad of gum in his mouth, pulls out his .45, and flashes three fingers in the air to indicate the number of bullets he has left. Ronon readies his blaster and Teyla checks her nearly empty clip.
Once again, Teyla offers a silent prayer when they are not pursued through the forest and locate the jumper using Rodney's scanner. Thank goodness Corporal Blake has the gene because Rodney is on the verge of passing out once they pile inside.
“Teyla love, start an IV on Rodney while I work on the colonel. Sergeant, do you know how to---”
“I'm on it,” Johnson answers, readying one for Ronon. Both stubborn men stare at each other. “When you're on the mend, I'll join your next class.” That earns him a wolfish grin and Ronon sticks out an arm.
After inserting an IV into Rodney, Teyla has to fight for position near John. Ronon has taken one side and Carson the other. Rodney settles for staying put in front of his friend, his head resting on the wall.
“We'll be through the gate in two minutes,” Blake calls out.
There's no time to intubate and Carson adjusts the oxygen mask and turns the pressure up on the tank. “It's going to be close.”
Teyla doesn't dare close her eyes or give in to exhaustion. None of them do.
They follow behind John's gurney in the hanger bay, and they stay back when the alarms blare in the infirmary. Embattled, weary and frayed to the bone---they stay.
With one eye on the curtains shielding her view, Teyla remains with her team as they are treated. Ronon and Rodney need to be prepped for surgery, but they refuse to be wheeled away. To be put under without knowing.
Blake smacks a new piece gum, blowing a bubble that Johnson snags and pops. Neither leaves.
“He'll be fine,” Rodney mumbles, high on painkillers. “He's Sheppard. Able to leap city towers in a single bound.”
Doctor Sato tries to wheel him into pre-op, but Rodney's not that far gone, accidentally knocking down the IV stand in his protest. “Not yet,” he growls.
Before another argument commences, Carson and Jennifer enter and they become the center of attention. “I was able to reduce the fluid load to the colonel's lungs. He'll be in the ICU for a while,” she explains.
“This is great news, thank you.” Teyla doesn't know what else to say, her shoulders bending under the weight of exhaustion.
But she will stand by her team. With Ronon and Rodney until she can no longer follow. Then after a shower and a change into soft blue scrubs, she takes the chair next to John's bed.
And falls asleep listening to the hiss of the oxygen mask. When she awakens, it's to a keen sense of being watched.
Opening her eyes, she sees slits of hazel in the healing burns on John's face. Teyla slides her hand under the rail to take his hand. “Don't talk,” she whispers when his lips try to move. “There is no need for words. We are all safe. All home.”
Despite her warning and his own weakness, he tries to whisper under the obstructive plastic and she removes it for a second, listening to the wispy remains of his voice. His valiant effort causes her to smile.
“You are very welcome, John. I...We would have done whatever it took.”
When he drifts off, Teyla goes back to sleep in the hard plastic chair, knowing the next time she awakens, there will be two gurneys parked alongside them.
Fini-
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Prompt:
I'm thinking military (I also loved End Game, showed Sheppards' soldier skills) orientated. Of course Sheppard goes off world with his team and a small military contingent for a small humanitarian mission. Carson there would be good. I'd like to see more of the impression of how much his men under his command think of him, admire him and how they will go to the ends of the earth and even die for him. Somehow Sheppard gets gravely injured or attacked and his condition rapidly deteriorates due to possibly poison? The gate is inaccessible (unsure why) so there is no help from Atlantis. Carson informs the team that there isn't anything he can do and they had better say their good byes. Generally angsty from the team/men and especially Teyla. Maybe instead of Rodney saving Sheppard, it is something that Teyla comes up with because she refuses to let him go maybe even telling him so.