TEAM TIME: salt in the wound, "Salt for My Wounds"
Title: Salt for My Wounds
Author: hoktauri
Team: Time
Prompt: salt in the wound
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard
Characters: Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan, Evan Lorne
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 7,853
Warnings: None
Summary: A strange method of motivation may prove deadly as McKay is forced to race against the clock to save Sheppard, Ronon and Teyla from an unusual fate.
Author’s Notes: Epic thank you to my awesome beta, from whose red pen my fic could not escape!
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**
Rodney went over the calculations again in his mind, his eyes quickly scanning the console in the Emorlian lab. He moved a few numbers around on his datapad, silently cursing the architects who'd designed the building's ventilation system. There were large vents in each corner of the room, but they were still too far from the broken equipment to keep it from overheating again in the near future. That didn't matter now; Rodney had to fix this damn system and he now had--he checked his watch--three hours and thirty-six minutes left to do so. Less time if he was going to make it to the others before they--
No, he couldn't afford to think like that. He knew Teyla would be okay. The Emorlian Ambassador's estimates of their survival rates was based on someone Ronon's size, so Teyla would have more time than the given average of four hours. John would also likely still be alive in that timeframe, if unconscious, even though Rodney knew it'd be cutting it too close for his own comfort level. He didn't like imagining John that way. He also didn't know how much time it would take the Emorlians to retrieve them, so he'd calculated the time from their arrest to the time the Ambassador gave Rodney the rules and shoved him into the lab. That took away one hour.
So Rodney really only had two hours and thirty-six minutes-thirty-five now, he noticed, swiping a film of sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve-before Ronon was dead.
Of course, that also assumed that when Rodney finished the repairs, Ronon would be the first one they retrieved.
*****
Movement was limited in the cramped space, to the point that John couldn't even bring his knees to his chest. He twisted his legs around to try to kick sideways, but he couldn't get the proper leverage to put any force behind it. He quickly patted himself down to see what the Emorlians had left with him, but it wasn't much besides his clothes and boots. They'd even taken the knives Ronon had taught him how to hide, and he wondered if they'd taken Ronon's, too. He doubted they would find all of them.
God, Rodney especially. John scrubbed his face, forcing himself to focus. Now wasn't the time to go there.
Dirt was beginning to pour through the cracks in the wood, the pressure too much for the wood to withstand. John couldn't see the dirt, but he could feel it hitting his face and his hands, could hear it trickling in as John tested the integrity of his coffin lid.
John unbuttoned his shirt, trying to maneuver out of it, thinking he could wrap it around his hand to cushion the blows of his fist against the lid. It was his only option to bust out of there on his own, but the shirt wasn't going anywhere. His movements were too restricted.
He tore at the shirt instead, working his fingers into the seams of the sleeves, his fingernails snagging the thread. He got one sleeve free and began work on the other.
Eventually he had both sleeves off and wrapped around his right hand, thick at the knuckles to protect them as he pounded at the lid in short, rapid bursts. Yet even with the fabric for protection, after the first few blows, he could feel the force of each hit bruise his hand a little harder.
The bolts holding the lid in place creaked as the wood splintered again, this time above John's head, and he stilled himself, listening as the dirt sifted through the broken fibers before spilling over him. He shut his eyes to it, bringing his hand to cover his face, scooting as close to the side of the coffin as possible. He felt himself breathing harder and forced himself to calm down.
Using up his oxygen supply was the last thing he wanted.
*****
If the Emorlians had been in any way amenable to trade negotiations, Rodney would've gladly-okay, maybe not gladly-traded his expertise in exchange for some of the meat they'd been served upon their first introductions. Of course, that was when Teyla had the situation under control, before everything went to shit. Rodney still wasn't sure what happened: one minute he was talking with the chief Emorlian scientist, discussing the advancements of their weapons systems, and the next minute, Rodney was facing a dozen weapons pointed at him, and the rest of his team was pinned to the floor.
Even the Emorlian scientist looked shocked.
The problem was that the system wasn't an Emorlian invention, and the people that designed it and knew how it operated had been culled the previous year. This was what they told Rodney. This was all they told him. He had to figure out its function on his own, despite the Ambassador's insistence that such knowledge was unnecessary.
Rodney laid his hand on the offending part and gently eased it free from the rest of the mainframe. It was a construct of circuits, somewhat primitive, in Rodney's opinion, and easy to damage, which he found out when a corner chipped off in his hand. He wondered if the brittle nature of the circuit board was by design or by heat damage. Or maybe it was designed to be easily susceptible to heat damage--the Pegasus equivalent of planned obsolescence.
He slipped the part inside the Emorlian tool bag. There was no salvaging it; he'd have to cannibalize one of the retired pieces of equipment in the second lab.
Glancing at his watch, Rodney scooped up the bag of Emorlian tools and headed for the door.
The larger of the two guards blocked his way. "Have you completed your task?"
"I need a part," Rodney said, plucking the circuit board from the bag. "The Ambassador mentioned a second lab with old equipment. I figure there's a part there that'll match this one so I can replace it."
The guard exchanged a look with his compatriot, then glared at Rodney. He narrowed his eyes, staring into him as if he could see through him. Rodney gulped.
"Follow me," he finally said.
When he turned away, Rodney calculated the time left.
Two hours. Fourteen minutes.
*****
Ronon woke with a pounding headache, wondering why the room they'd shoved him in was so dark he couldn't even see his hand. He sighed, remembering the look on Clovek's face when Ronon pushed his hair aside to scratch his neck--the same spot where his tattoo was. Clovek drew back in horror, shouted something that sounded like "the wandering one", and before Ronon's hand touched his blaster, he'd been knocked out cold. These guys were fast, faster than Ronon had been, and he didn't like thinking he'd let himself relax.
Clovek had shouted in a dialect Ronon hadn't heard in years, not since his early days as a Runner. He tried every corner of his memory but couldn't place the man's face, and the dialect was spoken on more than a few worlds, so he could only narrow his options so far. It was his best guess that Clovek was on a planet culled by the Wraith after Ronon overstayed his visit, before he learned that doing something like that was too dangerous. It wouldn't be the first time someone wanted to capture him for that reason, and it would likely not be the last.
Ronon sighed again, a deeper intake of air this time, and was surprised to feel it blowback against his face. He tried to sit up, but his knees and forehead hit something hard above him as he nearly knocked himself unconscious again. He threw his arms out and hit wood--beside him, above him, beneath him. He pawed frantically at every inch over his body, but he was surrounded. His movements caused tiny fissures to crack the wood, and small trails of dirt filtered into the coffin.
A familiar panic rose in his chest. He bellowed at the wood as if it would accede to his unspoken demands. He ran his hand up to his hair to find a knife, but they were gone. He slapped at his sleeves, his hips, the back of his waistband-everywhere he'd taught Sheppard to hide a knife and other places he hadn't. He couldn't reach his boot, but he was sure those were gone, too.
He closed his eyes to the darkness, attempting to steady his breathing, but the panic only increased when he thought of the others probably in their own coffins, buried nine sarmet deep and no way for him to help them.
He beat the side of his fists against the wood with another shout of rage, and he didn't even stop when he felt the wood tearing through his skin.
*****
The panels of a dozen odd machines lay scattered on the floor of the second lab as Rodney approached another one. He kicked a panel out of the way unceremoniously before kneeling to unfasten the implements holding the panel in place to this-what was it, a furnace? Any other time, he'd have been curious about what these machines were designed to do, but all curiosity had been driven out of him by the ticking of the relentless clock. His search for a replacement had so far been tedious and futile.
And he had a little over an hour left.
Quickly learning the furnace had nothing of value to yield, he scanned the room for the next device to probe. He was startled to see the Ambassador standing in the lab, observing Rodney's efforts.
"I am told you are nearing success," the Ambassador said with an odd smile.
"That depends on if you plan on keeping your word," Rodney said even as he approached a large rectangular piece of equipment that reminded him of the electromagnetic pulse generator on Atlantis.
"You will have your friends back when your task is complete," the Ambassador said.
Rodney peered into the box before him, setting the panel aside. He spotted a satisfactory replacement almost immediately.
"Don't go anywhere yet, Ambassador," Rodney sneered, plucking out the part. "I found a part that I think will do the trick."
"Trick?" the Ambassador growled, blocking Rodney's way through the door.
"It's, uh, a figure of speech," Rodney stammered. "It'll get the job done."
The Ambassador tilted his head, then after a moment, he stepped aside, escorting Rodney and the guards back to the main lab.
*****
The training returned to Teyla's mind quickly, despite the fact she'd never used this method outside of controlled conditions. Running her hands along the interior edges of the coffin, she felt the gaps where the wood wasn't bolted together. These would be the weakest points, and the best for applying pressure.
Next, she rolled to her side and drew up her legs. The coffin was wider than it was deep, but it still required effort. She felt at one point that she was climbing up the inside of the box, the way she would climb a pair of trees with no hand- or footholds.
With her back against one side and her hands and feet pressed firmly against the other, Teyla unfolded herself, straightening her arms and legs, forcing the top-half of the box to break apart between the bolts. Dirt showered over her as it fell through the widened gaps, but she just tucked her head down and waited.
When the dirt settled around her, she groped for the side of the box, feeling for the top. Using the box for leverage, she pulled herself against it and pushed upward, straining against the weight of the soil still overhead.
She didn't know how deep the Emorlians had buried her, but she was certain she'd climbed out of deeper.
*****
Rodney peeked his head above the console to check his progress on the datapad. The new circuit board was in place, but the console was still shutting down immediately after Rodney powered it up.
The guard who'd blocked Rodney's way out of the lab moved into the doorframe, glaring hard at him.
Rodney glared back. He was already being forced to fix equipment he'd never seen before in order to save his friends; he wasn't about to be intimidated, too.
The guard retreated back into the hallway, revealing Mirek, the Emorlian scientist, standing behind him.
"I trust all is going well?"
"It would be going a lot better if I knew my friends were okay," Rodney spat at him.
"I'm sorry," Mirek said, dropping his head. "I had no idea this would happen."
"Why did this happen, anyway?" Rodney asked, running the new calculations through the simulation. If he could increase the console's efficiency, it might be less prone to overheating, and would buy the Emorlians more time. More time before they had to kidnap another scientist.
"I'm afraid the scope of such intel is outside my range of understanding," Mirek stated simply, lifting his head to meet Rodney's eyes.
"What the hell does that mean? It's above your pay grade?"
Mirek's brow twitched in confusion. "I'm afraid I don't--"
"Yeah, yeah, save it," Rodney said. "Look, if you're an actual scientist, then get your ass over here and help me fix this damn thing."
"I'm afraid I am not permitted," Mirek replied.
"'Not permitted'?"
"You are a prisoner," Mirek said, "as are your friends. To help you would be to commit treason."
Rodney glanced at the time. He was down to forty-seven minutes. He didn't have time to be chit-chatting with anyone.
"If you won't help, then stop distracting me," Rodney said, slamming the lower console door open again to reveal the viscera of the equipment. He didn't even notice Mirek leave the room as he got back to work.
*****
Hours, days, months went by, or at least that was how it felt.
John shifted in his coffin, ready to try again. If he could only get past the lid, maybe he could dig his way free.
He ran his fingers along the wood above his head, testing the strength of what was still intact, locating new fissures. He snagged his fingertip and recoiled sharply. Putting his finger to his mouth, he tasted blood.
Returning to his plan, he began pushing against the lid, feeling the weight of the earth pressing back against him. More dirt trickled on top of him, and something slick slid down his face, past his ear, inching under his collar. He felt for it to wipe it away, figuring it was rain water, and came back with a writhing, wriggling bug. He tossed it toward the foot of the coffin, his skin crawling as he frantically brushed at the spot again, and the sudden movement dislodged more earth into the coffin. He stopped moving completely, holding his breath as he waited for the earth to settle once more.
It was only a few seconds, a few tiny movements in the larger universe, but the weight was too much. John could hear the bolts ripping free of the wood as it splintered completely. John curled up as best he could, covering his head with his arms as dirt showered him; he could feel himself losing consciousness. He gasped as the earth pressed into him, crushing the air from his lungs.
John always believed his last thoughts would be of his parents, or his brother, of how he fucked up so many things and never could make them right. He thought surely he'd see Nancy in his last moments, flashing before his eyes with the rest of his strange little life. If he'd given it consideration lately, he'd be sure his team was there at the end, added to the last few frames in the editing room, the family he always wanted but knew he didn't deserve.
It was only Rodney he saw, his hands waving enthusiastically, his smile lighting up a room as he solved a new puzzle. Something in John began to ache, and he wasn't sure if it was the pressure of the earth now covering him, compressing his ribcage until he could hardly breathe, or if it was that feeling welling up inside him that he always refused to acknowledge, the one he got lately whenever he thought too long about Rodney--about wanting him.
But it no longer mattered.
John released another gasp of air, the last of his oxygen used, and he felt himself settle, the earth secure around him as it carried him to his fate.
*****
The task was complete. Rodney powered up the console, and it beeped to life. If he weren't down to the wire already, he might have poked around a bit to find out its function, but today he'd forego the exploration.
It wouldn't have been possible anyway. The guards were watching him, and they knew when he finished as soon he successfully turned on the device. Any triumph he may have felt was brief as the Ambassador had Rodney blindfolded and his hands bound behind him. He nearly tripped twice on the way to wherever they were taking him, and he couldn't help but panic at the thought that they had no intentions of returning John, Ronon and Teyla to him alive.
He felt his shoes shuffling through dirt and grass, and he knew they were outside. Men on either side of him held onto his arms to keep him moving in the right direction, and when they stopped, he heard the unmistakable sound of a DHD.
"You took them to another planet?" he asked, incredulous.
A punch to his stomach silenced him, and he waited to be pushed through the Gate.
On the other side, his hands were cut loose before he was shoved to the ground. He scrambled to get the blindfold off.
"You'll need this," the Ambassador said, dropping a folded piece of parchment to the ground. Then he signaled one of the guards, and he presented Rodney with a shovel. "Their burial spots are marked on the map."
Rodney grabbed the parchment as he stood. "Wait a minute, this wasn't part of the deal. I only have- I have sixteen minutes left!" Rodney frantically unfolded the map, noting the three distinct markings for each of his teammates. Together they formed a triangle, with the Stargate as the center-point.
"Then I suggest you hurry," the Ambassador said. "It's a pity you didn't work faster, Dr. McKay. Now you only have time to save one of them."
The Ambassador turned to redial the Gate. As the wormhole formed, Rodney reached out for his arm.
"At least tell me which one is which," Rodney begged.
The Ambassador paused before nodding. "Very well. You may select one of them."
"Fine, I want Ronon," Rodney said, forcing himself not to ask for John. Ronon had the least amount of time left, and he'd likely be the biggest help in saving the others. Rodney wasn't even sure he had the strength to unearth one grave, let alone three.
The Ambassador frowned and pointed to one of the markings on the map.
Rodney picked up the shovel and took off before the Emorlians walked back through the Gate.
*****
Tearing through the forest at a speed faster than he thought he could manage, Rodney ran toward the spot marked on the map where Ronon was buried. Running with the shovel was awkward, and he had to stop once to catch his breath, but he made it to the spot with four minutes to spare.
A rectangular patch of ground stuck out near a circle of trees to the right of the path. Rodney folded the map and stuffed it in his pocket, then began to dig.
With the running it took him to get there, he tired out more quickly then he imagined, sinking into the hole he'd started. Before he had a chance to push himself up and start again, he heard Ronon's voice, shouting beneath him.
"Oh, shit," Rodney exclaimed, and the banging that followed Ronon's voice sent a chill up Rodney's spine and a surge of adrenaline through his veins. He kept digging until the shovel hit something, and kneeling, Rodney brushed aside the dirt to partially reveal the wooden coffin. "Ronon!"
"McKay!"
Rodney stuck the end of the shovel into a crack in the box and pried the lid up. With Ronon pushing against it and Rodney leveraging the shovel to pull it, the lid was off and Ronon was free. He scrambled up and grabbed Rodney by the collar, pushing him back against the wall of the grave. His knuckles were scabbed over with half-dried blood and his arms were streaked brown and red. Ronon was breathing heavily, every muscle in his arms a taut line as he held Rodney in place.
Finally, Ronon released him. Then he hugged him.
Rodney breathed a sigh of relief, but it was a relief short-lived.
"We have to get to the others," he said, turning to climb out of the grave.
Ronon was out before Rodney could find a handhold, hoisting him up. "Sheppard and Teyla?"
Rodney nodded, pulling out the map. "They're here and here," he said, pointing to the two markings. "Only I don't know which one is which."
"We can split up, that way we'll make sure to get both of them out," Ronon suggested.
"No," Rodney said, "no, I've already thought of that and it's no good. There's only one shovel and I am exhausted. Not to mention the fact that I'm not letting you or anyone else out of my sight until we're back on Atlantis."
"McKay," Ronon said, picking up the shovel, "I think I'm touched."
"We'll just have to hope we find John first," Rodney said, trying to figure out which spot on the map to find next. "He'll run out of air before Teyla does."
"Yes, he will," a voice said behind him. "But I should think that would be obvious."
When Rodney turned around to find Teyla standing behind him, covered head to toe in dirt, he nearly had a heart attack right there. Instead, he yelped and staggered backwards against Ronon.
"I am glad to see you are both well," she said.
"How did you...?" Rodney asked.
Stepping forward, Ronon lifted one of Teyla's hands. It was dirty, and her nails were caked with soil. There were clumps of dirt and grass stuck in her hair and in odd places of her uniform, but her face was mostly clean. A water stain darkened the front of her shirt.
"You climbed out?" Ronon asked.
"I did," Teyla replied, taking the map as Rodney offered it. "It is part of an Athosian's training to learn how to handle a variety of situations. Live burial is one such situation."
Ronon shook his head. "Never been more glad I'm not an Athosian."
Teyla pointed to one of the two markings on the map. "This is where I was buried," she said. "That leaves this spot for John."
"We need to hurry," Rodney said, so Teyla led the way.
*****
When they reached the spot, Ronon immediately started to dig. Teyla found a large branch and sifted the dirt to loosen it in places before scooping it aside with her hands. Rodney followed suit, feeling like a dog attempting to uncover a bone, but he didn't care about that. All he cared about was getting John out of there.
Ronon ran into the box with the shovel, and Teyla brushed at the dirt. She stopped almost immediately, jerking her hand back. Rodney noticed the box lid had splintered open, the dirt caving it in almost completely.
"Oh, no," Rodney whispered, jumping into the grave beside Teyla. "John?"
Together they lifted away the larger pieces of the coffin lid, only to be faced with more dirt. Teyla reached her hands into the dirt and pulled it away in large clumps. John's body, half-turned on its side, began to take shape under Teyla's deft hands, his arms loosely covering his head.
"John? Can you hear me?" Rodney called out, helping Teyla lift him up towards Ronon. He noticed John's hands, one bloody and one wrapped in black cloth. Then he realized the sleeves of his button-down had been ripped off. It haunted him to think about John trying to free himself, only to be crushed under the weight of collapsing earth.
Grabbing John under each arm, Ronon pulled him out of the grave, laying him on the ground as Rodney and Teyla climbed out.
"He's not breathing," Ronon said, brushing dirt from John's mouth.
Rodney knelt beside John, searching his wrist for a pulse. "No-no-no-no-no," he muttered, starting chest compressions as Ronon breathed into John's mouth.
"Which way is the Gate?" Teyla asked Ronon.
He nodded in the direction of the path that would lead her to the Gate. Rodney paused long enough to tear off his GDO transmitter and handed it to her.
"I will return to Atlantis and send back a medical team," Teyla said, taking the transmitter and heading off without waiting for a response.
"Come on, Sheppard," Ronon said.
Another breath in, and John was spraying dirt on Ronon's face as he coughed, gulping in a huge breath of air when he cleared enough of the debris.
"Oh, thank god," Rodney mumbled, his heart skipping a beat as relief washed over him.
John curled on his side towards Ronon, lost in a coughing fit for a moment. Rodney bit back the instinct to explore every inch of him for further injury. Carson would be there soon enough.
"Welcome back, Sheppard," Ronon said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"Where'd I go?" John asked, his voice a low rasp.
"You were dead for a minute," Ronon replied. "We were almost too late."
"Ronon..." John wheezed, exerting obvious effort in order to sit upright. "Teyla?"
"She's coming back with a medical team," Rodney said, placing a hand on John's arm. "Take it easy, all right?"
"Rodney..." John leaned in and surprised Rodney by wrapping his arms around him.
Looking to Ronon as if for a cue, he hesitantly returned the embrace.
"Get me the hell outta here," John said.
"It won't be long before the med--"
"I don't care," John said, slowly standing. Ronon flanked him on the other side to keep him from falling down again.
"All right," Rodney said. "Let's go home."
"Teyla has your transmitter," Ronon reminded him.
"Then we'll make it back in time to meet the medical team when they come through," Rodney replied. "The sooner we're gone, the better."
"Think they might come back? Try to start something else?"
"I honestly don't know," Rodney said.
"Let's not wait around to find out," John said.
Taking some of John's weight against himself, Rodney followed Ronon back to the Gate.
*****
They all spent the night in the infirmary when they returned, as a precaution, Beckett said. Teyla collapsed from exhaustion before she could argue-not that John thought she would, but he definitely had-and Ronon just wanted the light left on when it got dark outside.
John had a few bruised ribs and some bloodied knuckles, both of which were expertly wrapped by a nurse. He was dehydrated, and he spent the entire night on oxygen. He found sleep easy enough, but he kept dreaming about clawing his way out of the coffin only to be suffocated by a mound of dirt burying him all over again.
When he was released, he didn't want to go back to his room. It felt too small just thinking about it.
Instead, he walked over to Rodney's bed.
Rodney must have been riding an adrenaline high to get that device fixed, and then to dig Ronon out of the ground, because when Beckett ran his tests, he noted his surprise that Rodney was still on his feet with his blood sugar as low as it was.
Taking Rodney's hand, John noticed wayward specs of dirt beneath his fingernails and attempted to brush them away. He hated it being there, the evidence of what they'd made him do. John watched Rodney sleeping for a moment, remembering the things he saw, almost dream-like, before he'd lost consciousness. The fact that Rodney had been so vivid and alive to him in his memory, compared to how still he was in the infirmary, set a fire inside John that he knew he couldn't control.
He reached up to his radio and paged Lorne to his office. It was time for some answers.
*****
Two teams of Marines stood before the Gate within the hour. John was already among them, ready to lead them through, when Lorne headed down the stairs towards the group. He sidled up next to John and watched him intently, rechecking his weapon and securing his vest.
"You sure you wanna do this, sir?"
"I'm sure," John replied, waving up at Chuck. The Gate began to dial.
As the seventh chevron locked, Teyla hurried into the Gateroom, clipping her weapon in place.
"If you are returning to the planet, I'm going with you," she said.
John only nodded as the Marines went through the Gate, one by one. When John walked through, Lorne and Teyla exchanged a worried glance before following him.
"Colonel Sheppard," Teyla called out as John led the Marines toward the Emorlian city. "I would like to know what plans you made by coming here," she said, catching up to him.
"You're seriously not going to try to convince me that these people could still be our allies?" John asked. "Because I can guarantee you, they're not."
"That may be, Colonel," Teyla said, "but retaliation is not the answer."
"I brought this mission before Woolsey, so if you're worried that it's not a sanctioned act of vengeance," John said, pausing, "don't be."
"Surely, Mr. Woolsey did not sanction an act of war?"
John stopped short, facing Teyla. "They buried us alive, Teyla, and I want to know why. That's the plan."
Teyla met his eyes, searching them. When she finally gave a nod of contrition, John continued walking.
Teyla fell back, walking alongside Major Lorne.
*****
They reached what John thought of as the Emorlian city hall, a gathering place for the same Emorlian council that greeted John and his team upon their first visit.
The Ambassador stood waiting for them atop the marble steps of the building, flanked by his own contingent of soldiers. He smiled coldly at John as he marched up the steps toward him.
"I must admit, I did not expect you both to live," he said, gesturing first to John and then Teyla. "Nor to see you here again."
"That's kinda why I'm here, Ambassador," John said. He stopped in front of him, a step below where the Ambassador stood, and stared at him through his aviator sunglasses. With a wave of his hand, the Marines behind him raised their weapons. The Emorlian regiment did the same.
The Ambassador halted the approaching soldiers.
"But first, we want our gear back," John said with a sneer. "Getting captured starts to get expensive after a while. I'm sure you understand."
The Ambassador nodded, narrowing his eyes. "Of course. The Emorlian people are always conscientious of practical matters." He gestured to two of the soldiers, who lowered their weapons before retreating through the double doors behind them.
"Your method of execution seems pretty cost-efficient," John said with a smirk barely attempting to conceal his ire. "I mean, hell, they're gonna end up six feet under anyway, right?"
The Ambassador drew himself up, peering down his nose at John. "It keeps our hands clean. The Emorlian people have strict pronouncements against taking life."
John chuckled dryly.
"'Keeps our hands clean'," he repeated. "Well, at least you understand the concept of irony."
"Sir," Lorne said softly behind him. "We should get what we came for and leave."
John nodded. "What we came for." He glanced down at his hand, checking the dirt under his fingernails, remembering the grime caked under Rodney's. Then his hand was wrapped around the Ambassador's throat as he shoved him backwards into the building, weapons cocking all around them but no one firing. He briefly registered that Lorne and his men had a gun on every one of the Emorlians, losing his sense of control along with his sunglasses as he overpowered the Ambassador.
The doors banged shut behind them as John pinned the Ambassador to the nearest wall.
"What are you-" he choked out.
John tightened his grip. He could feel the man's veins beating a pounding tattoo against his hand, his tendons running taut as he struggled. He watched the man's face purple for a moment, and then he let him go.
"What are you...?" He paused to cough furiously, gasping in air. "What will you do with me?"
John pondered for a moment. "Well, I thought I might bury you in a small wooden box, but that'd just be a waste of resources." He drew his sidearm and aimed it at the Ambassador's head. "I'll probably just shoot you instead."
"Will that not displease your masters?" the Ambassador spat out.
John wavered. "Masters?"
The Ambassador met John's stare with one of his own. "The Wraith, Colonel Sheppard. Surely, they'd prefer you bring me back to them as sustenance."
"You already know we're fighting the Wraith," John said. "Why would you think the Wraith are our masters?"
"Your friend, Ronon Dex," the Ambassador began. "The Satedan."
"What about him?"
"Kreygor's people were once a great nation among our stars," the Ambassador recalled. "Much of our technology came from them, including the Gate sensor array that your Dr. McKay helped us to repair."
John pushed the gun closer to the Ambassador's head. "That's another thing we're gonna have a talk about before I kill you."
"Kreygor called your friend 'the wandering one'. He told us stories of how he set the Wraith on his village long ago-and now he is among you. And you protect him! What other conclusion is there but that you both serve the Wraith?"
"Ronon hates the Wraith more than anyone I know," John said. "And probably more than anyone in this entire galaxy. So you might wanna check your accusations, Ambassador."
"It is said that every village in which he sets foot... the Wraith are soon to follow. Many suspected he worked for the Wraith, some even said he worshipped them. When Kreygor recognized his marking, I knew it was just a matter of time before the Wraith came here for a culling. I had to prevent it and if I could not, I had to see to it that my people would have protection in the future."
"And did the Wraith show up?"
"No, but that doesn't mean they are not coming."
John hesitated before lowering his gun. "Ronon was a Runner," he said. "The Wraith put a tracking device in him so they could hunt him-for sport. We crossed paths a few years back and my people were able to remove the device, so the Wraith aren't coming here anytime soon." John watched the man's face light up in horror.
"If..." the Ambassador whispered, his head dropping low. "If what you say is true, then we owe you a debt."
"It is true," John said, "and you can start repaying us by telling me about that machine you had McKay fix."
*****
John was the last one to sit at the table Teyla selected by the window, and Ronon was already halfway through his meal when he got there. Rodney was uncharacteristically poking at his food. Teyla was the only one who seemed relatively unchanged by the recent events on Emorla.
The sun was shining directly at them through the window as it climbed the morning sky. They were absorbed by silence, each of them lost to their own meditations.
When he finished his meal, Ronon dragged his tray aside before laying his hands on the table, splaying his fingers apart. He stared them down, as if they might hold terrible secrets that could betray him. Flexing his fingers a moment, Ronon picked at the edge of the bandages covering most of his hand, unwinding it slowly. One hand free, he flexed it again, the skin split open where it had yet to scab over. Then he reached for the salt shaker on Rodney's tray.
John let his own hand drop, the bite on his fork not reaching his mouth as he watched in fascination as Ronon started to shake salt over his hand.
"What are you doing?" Rodney asked, incredulous.
Ronon winced as the salt hit his open wounds. "Dries up the wound," he gritted out after a moment. "Heals quicker."
"Yeah," John said absently. "Sailors used to do the same thing on Earth." He caught Rodney now staring at him and realized he'd actually said that aloud.
"Used to?" Ronon asked.
"Yes, before the advancement of modern medicine, which, you know, we have now," Rodney said.
John shook his head and went back to his meal.
"So how'd the mission go anyway?" Rodney asked.
"Got our gear back," John said.
"You actually went back to that planet for some weapons and a couple of TAC vests?"
"No," John said. "I went to kill them, but Teyla didn't like that idea."
"You would not have liked it either, once it was over," Teyla said. She stared pointedly at John, raising her eyebrows with an encouraging gesture of her hand.
John frowned.
"We also learned the reason for their actions," Teyla said.
"Reason! Ha!" Rodney exclaimed. "I don't think "reason" ever entered into it."
"It was my fault," Ronon said, dusting another coat of salt over his hand. He closed his eyes and bit down against the pain.
"It was not your fault, Ronon," Teyla said, looking directly at him. She rested a hand on his arm, but Ronon didn't react. Teyla sighed, returning her attention to Rodney. "There is a man on Emorla by the name of Kreygor who told them stories about Ronon. He claimed that Ronon was a Wraith worshipper."
"Why would they think that?" Rodney asked.
"Because every time he came to a village, the Wraith followed and culled the people there," John said.
"Well, I sincerely hope you set him right!" Rodney said. "Ronon hates the Wraith more than anyone in Pegasus."
"I told them that, Rodney. Thank you."
"Good, good," Rodney said, and he finally started to eat.
Ronon picked up his tray and stood, setting the salt shaker on the table in front of Rodney before walking away.
"Seriously?" Rodney asked, turning to look at John when Ronon was out of earshot. "Sailors?"
"What?" John said. "I know stuff."
"Ronon slept outside last night," Teyla interrupted them.
Rodney perked up. "Really?"
She nodded. "I spoke with him this morning to see how he's been adjusting."
"Not well, it sounds like," Rodney replied.
"Like you're handling it any better," John said. "You played with your food for ten minutes after I sat down."
Rodney glared at him. "And you went back to that planet hell-bent on killing a bunch of people who not twenty-four hours previously were potential allies. I don't think any one of us is exactly coping with flying colors."
John shrugged, gesturing with his fork. "Teyla seems to be okay."
"I had previous training for such circumstances," Teyla said, "although I must admit it's difficult to watch the three of you in such states of duress."
"That's-" Rodney mumbled around his food. "Well, that's-that's a lovely sentiment."
"I still do not understand why they would entomb us all," Teyla added, "if that was their only reasoning."
"They still wanted Rodney to fix their machine," John told her. "Plus, they thought we were Wraith worshippers, too. Being Ronon's 'escorts' and all."
Rodney lowered his fork again. "It'll burn out again, eventually," he said. "Maybe even explode."
Despite his own intentions with the Emorlians, John didn't like the sound in Rodney's voice, like he was keen on vengeance. It took a different tone when it was coming from someone you cared about, and John now understood what Teyla must have felt watching him barrelling toward revenge.
"Did the Ambassador mention the machine's purpose?" Teyla asked.
"It was a Gate sensor array," John said. "Surveillance system. Gives them advanced warning for when the Wraith come through."
"What, like a storm warning system?"
John shrugged. "I guess. I didn't see it in action."
"It was Kreygor's people who built the device," Teyla said. "When they were culled, the Emorlians had no way of keeping it in repair."
Rodney nodded, staring down at his half-eaten tray of food. He gripped his fork but didn't lift it.
"Rodney," John said softly. "You okay?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine, it's just-" He stammered, stopped, started again. "Muscle exhaustion," he finally said, "at least, according to Carson. It's, uh, it's difficult to lift my arms."
John didn't know what to say to that; luckily, Teyla broke the ice for him.
"Would you like some assistance, Rodney?" she asked with an odd twinkle in her eye. "With my experience with Torren, I believe I am well-qualified."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Thank you, but I think I can manage."
"If push comes to shove, you can always Hoover it up," John said, elbowing Rodney gently.
John was glad to see him laugh then, the first hint of a smile he'd seen from him since he helped bring John back to life.
*****
By the time John knocked on the door to Rodney's quarters, he realized too late that he probably should have showered and changed before coming over. There wasn't anything much worse than the smell of stale mission following you around.
John raised his hand to knock again, but the door opened with a sigh before he could, revealing an immobile Rodney McKay lying flat on his bed, facedown. He mumbled something that sounded like "Figured it was you," but he didn't move.
John stared into the dark room, suddenly confronted with the overwhelming sense of being engulfed by darkness. Rodney stirred, looking up at John as he braced himself in the doorway, shutting his eyes tight.
"John?" His voice was soft and full of concern.
He opened his eyes to see the lights were now on inside the room, Rodney still mostly lying on his bed, only now he was propped up on one quivering arm. He dropped back down as John entered, the door shutting behind him.
"Hi," John said.
"Forgive me for not greeting you at the door, Colonel," Rodney mumbled into his pillow. John barely understood him.
"Is this a bad time?"
Rodney opened one eye and peered sideways up at him. "That depends on why you're here."
And that reminded John why he was there in the first place. He'd been kicking himself over his feelings for so long, it was time to let it go. Move on. If Ronon could pour salt into his own open wounds because he thought it would help? John could certainly tell Rodney how he felt about him.
Problem was, John used to be well-prepared for rejection. This time it was different; this time...
His team was the closest thing to real family John had ever known. Did he really want to jeopardize that?
"John?" Rodney pushed himself off the bed, and it looked like a Herculean effort.
Bad time for confessions, John thought as Rodney tugged him toward the bathroom.
"Are you okay? You look like you're freaking out."
He didn't know what he could possibly look like to lead Rodney to draw that conclusion, but it couldn't be good.
Rodney gently guided John to sit on the edge of the bathtub. He grabbed the hand towel from the counter and ran it under the faucet, then folded it and draped it over the back of John's neck. It was cool against his skin, and for some reason, John felt himself blushing at the gesture.
"What's that for?" he asked.
"Oh, it, uh... It was something my mother used to do."
Rodney's hand rested by his side for a moment, at John's eye-level. He could still see the dirt under Rodney's fingernails and wondered if Rodney had even tried cleaning them. He stood, grabbing the towel as it slipped from his neck, and took Rodney's hand in his. Thinking the faucet on, he directed Rodney's hand to the water, calmly cleaning away the dirt.
This time, when Rodney spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.
"John," he said, not a question or a demand, but an acknowledgement, a thank you.
Glancing up once, John saw a burning intent in Rodney's eyes as he watched John work. With one hand clean, John took the other and repeated the ministration.
When he was finished, John thought the water off as he fished for a dry towel from the cabinet. Finding one, he wrapped Rodney's hands in it to soak up the excess water, then searched them again to make sure he hadn't missed a spot. He dared a glance at Rodney; the inital look of confusion on Rodney's face had turned to marvel at the focused care John had given his hands.
"This is why you came over?" Rodney asked.
John could only nod. He couldn't fully meet Rodney's eyes, his focus returning to his hands. There were calluses on Rodney's fingers congruent with his own, evidence of Rodney's shifting focus from the lab to the field. His palms were broad enough that John felt his own hands were small by comparison.
Finally finding the courage to look up, he stepped closer into Rodney's personal space. Rodney didn't move, just let him come closer. When their faces were only a few inches apart, Rodney closed his eyes, tilting his head as John leaned in to kiss him.
Their lips brushed tentatively first, until John felt his courage rise and he moved his lips against Rodney's like he'd been doing it for years.
And Rodney didn't simply return the kiss; he slipped his hands from John's (and that noise John made was not a whimper of disappointment) so he could cup John's face and deepen the kiss. A feeling of lightness overcame John as he allowed the exploration.
After a moment, they parted, both breathing heavily, Rodney's reaction bright on his face.
"Holy crap, I just kissed you," Rodney whispered.
"Yeah," John said. "That was a lot closer to why I came over."
"Well, I'm glad you did," Rodney said. "I mean, really glad."
John pulled Rodney closer until their foreheads touched, releasing a breath he felt he’d been holding for days. Rodney's reply was to pull John into his arms and hold him the way he did in the forest, after digging his body from beneath a mound of earth and bringing him back to life. John rested against him, burying his face in Rodney’s shoulder, and he smiled.
**
Poll
Author: hoktauri
Team: Time
Prompt: salt in the wound
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard
Characters: Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan, Evan Lorne
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 7,853
Warnings: None
Summary: A strange method of motivation may prove deadly as McKay is forced to race against the clock to save Sheppard, Ronon and Teyla from an unusual fate.
Author’s Notes: Epic thank you to my awesome beta, from whose red pen my fic could not escape!
Once you've read the story, please take a moment to vote in the poll below. Ratings go from 1 (low) to 9 (high), so all you need to do is enter a single number in that range into each text entry box. You'll be able to see the prompt in the header above.
More details about the voting procedure can be found here.
**
Rodney went over the calculations again in his mind, his eyes quickly scanning the console in the Emorlian lab. He moved a few numbers around on his datapad, silently cursing the architects who'd designed the building's ventilation system. There were large vents in each corner of the room, but they were still too far from the broken equipment to keep it from overheating again in the near future. That didn't matter now; Rodney had to fix this damn system and he now had--he checked his watch--three hours and thirty-six minutes left to do so. Less time if he was going to make it to the others before they--
No, he couldn't afford to think like that. He knew Teyla would be okay. The Emorlian Ambassador's estimates of their survival rates was based on someone Ronon's size, so Teyla would have more time than the given average of four hours. John would also likely still be alive in that timeframe, if unconscious, even though Rodney knew it'd be cutting it too close for his own comfort level. He didn't like imagining John that way. He also didn't know how much time it would take the Emorlians to retrieve them, so he'd calculated the time from their arrest to the time the Ambassador gave Rodney the rules and shoved him into the lab. That took away one hour.
So Rodney really only had two hours and thirty-six minutes-thirty-five now, he noticed, swiping a film of sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve-before Ronon was dead.
Of course, that also assumed that when Rodney finished the repairs, Ronon would be the first one they retrieved.
*****
Movement was limited in the cramped space, to the point that John couldn't even bring his knees to his chest. He twisted his legs around to try to kick sideways, but he couldn't get the proper leverage to put any force behind it. He quickly patted himself down to see what the Emorlians had left with him, but it wasn't much besides his clothes and boots. They'd even taken the knives Ronon had taught him how to hide, and he wondered if they'd taken Ronon's, too. He doubted they would find all of them.
God, Rodney especially. John scrubbed his face, forcing himself to focus. Now wasn't the time to go there.
Dirt was beginning to pour through the cracks in the wood, the pressure too much for the wood to withstand. John couldn't see the dirt, but he could feel it hitting his face and his hands, could hear it trickling in as John tested the integrity of his coffin lid.
John unbuttoned his shirt, trying to maneuver out of it, thinking he could wrap it around his hand to cushion the blows of his fist against the lid. It was his only option to bust out of there on his own, but the shirt wasn't going anywhere. His movements were too restricted.
He tore at the shirt instead, working his fingers into the seams of the sleeves, his fingernails snagging the thread. He got one sleeve free and began work on the other.
Eventually he had both sleeves off and wrapped around his right hand, thick at the knuckles to protect them as he pounded at the lid in short, rapid bursts. Yet even with the fabric for protection, after the first few blows, he could feel the force of each hit bruise his hand a little harder.
The bolts holding the lid in place creaked as the wood splintered again, this time above John's head, and he stilled himself, listening as the dirt sifted through the broken fibers before spilling over him. He shut his eyes to it, bringing his hand to cover his face, scooting as close to the side of the coffin as possible. He felt himself breathing harder and forced himself to calm down.
Using up his oxygen supply was the last thing he wanted.
*****
If the Emorlians had been in any way amenable to trade negotiations, Rodney would've gladly-okay, maybe not gladly-traded his expertise in exchange for some of the meat they'd been served upon their first introductions. Of course, that was when Teyla had the situation under control, before everything went to shit. Rodney still wasn't sure what happened: one minute he was talking with the chief Emorlian scientist, discussing the advancements of their weapons systems, and the next minute, Rodney was facing a dozen weapons pointed at him, and the rest of his team was pinned to the floor.
Even the Emorlian scientist looked shocked.
The problem was that the system wasn't an Emorlian invention, and the people that designed it and knew how it operated had been culled the previous year. This was what they told Rodney. This was all they told him. He had to figure out its function on his own, despite the Ambassador's insistence that such knowledge was unnecessary.
Rodney laid his hand on the offending part and gently eased it free from the rest of the mainframe. It was a construct of circuits, somewhat primitive, in Rodney's opinion, and easy to damage, which he found out when a corner chipped off in his hand. He wondered if the brittle nature of the circuit board was by design or by heat damage. Or maybe it was designed to be easily susceptible to heat damage--the Pegasus equivalent of planned obsolescence.
He slipped the part inside the Emorlian tool bag. There was no salvaging it; he'd have to cannibalize one of the retired pieces of equipment in the second lab.
Glancing at his watch, Rodney scooped up the bag of Emorlian tools and headed for the door.
The larger of the two guards blocked his way. "Have you completed your task?"
"I need a part," Rodney said, plucking the circuit board from the bag. "The Ambassador mentioned a second lab with old equipment. I figure there's a part there that'll match this one so I can replace it."
The guard exchanged a look with his compatriot, then glared at Rodney. He narrowed his eyes, staring into him as if he could see through him. Rodney gulped.
"Follow me," he finally said.
When he turned away, Rodney calculated the time left.
Two hours. Fourteen minutes.
*****
Ronon woke with a pounding headache, wondering why the room they'd shoved him in was so dark he couldn't even see his hand. He sighed, remembering the look on Clovek's face when Ronon pushed his hair aside to scratch his neck--the same spot where his tattoo was. Clovek drew back in horror, shouted something that sounded like "the wandering one", and before Ronon's hand touched his blaster, he'd been knocked out cold. These guys were fast, faster than Ronon had been, and he didn't like thinking he'd let himself relax.
Clovek had shouted in a dialect Ronon hadn't heard in years, not since his early days as a Runner. He tried every corner of his memory but couldn't place the man's face, and the dialect was spoken on more than a few worlds, so he could only narrow his options so far. It was his best guess that Clovek was on a planet culled by the Wraith after Ronon overstayed his visit, before he learned that doing something like that was too dangerous. It wouldn't be the first time someone wanted to capture him for that reason, and it would likely not be the last.
Ronon sighed again, a deeper intake of air this time, and was surprised to feel it blowback against his face. He tried to sit up, but his knees and forehead hit something hard above him as he nearly knocked himself unconscious again. He threw his arms out and hit wood--beside him, above him, beneath him. He pawed frantically at every inch over his body, but he was surrounded. His movements caused tiny fissures to crack the wood, and small trails of dirt filtered into the coffin.
A familiar panic rose in his chest. He bellowed at the wood as if it would accede to his unspoken demands. He ran his hand up to his hair to find a knife, but they were gone. He slapped at his sleeves, his hips, the back of his waistband-everywhere he'd taught Sheppard to hide a knife and other places he hadn't. He couldn't reach his boot, but he was sure those were gone, too.
He closed his eyes to the darkness, attempting to steady his breathing, but the panic only increased when he thought of the others probably in their own coffins, buried nine sarmet deep and no way for him to help them.
He beat the side of his fists against the wood with another shout of rage, and he didn't even stop when he felt the wood tearing through his skin.
*****
The panels of a dozen odd machines lay scattered on the floor of the second lab as Rodney approached another one. He kicked a panel out of the way unceremoniously before kneeling to unfasten the implements holding the panel in place to this-what was it, a furnace? Any other time, he'd have been curious about what these machines were designed to do, but all curiosity had been driven out of him by the ticking of the relentless clock. His search for a replacement had so far been tedious and futile.
And he had a little over an hour left.
Quickly learning the furnace had nothing of value to yield, he scanned the room for the next device to probe. He was startled to see the Ambassador standing in the lab, observing Rodney's efforts.
"I am told you are nearing success," the Ambassador said with an odd smile.
"That depends on if you plan on keeping your word," Rodney said even as he approached a large rectangular piece of equipment that reminded him of the electromagnetic pulse generator on Atlantis.
"You will have your friends back when your task is complete," the Ambassador said.
Rodney peered into the box before him, setting the panel aside. He spotted a satisfactory replacement almost immediately.
"Don't go anywhere yet, Ambassador," Rodney sneered, plucking out the part. "I found a part that I think will do the trick."
"Trick?" the Ambassador growled, blocking Rodney's way through the door.
"It's, uh, a figure of speech," Rodney stammered. "It'll get the job done."
The Ambassador tilted his head, then after a moment, he stepped aside, escorting Rodney and the guards back to the main lab.
*****
The training returned to Teyla's mind quickly, despite the fact she'd never used this method outside of controlled conditions. Running her hands along the interior edges of the coffin, she felt the gaps where the wood wasn't bolted together. These would be the weakest points, and the best for applying pressure.
Next, she rolled to her side and drew up her legs. The coffin was wider than it was deep, but it still required effort. She felt at one point that she was climbing up the inside of the box, the way she would climb a pair of trees with no hand- or footholds.
With her back against one side and her hands and feet pressed firmly against the other, Teyla unfolded herself, straightening her arms and legs, forcing the top-half of the box to break apart between the bolts. Dirt showered over her as it fell through the widened gaps, but she just tucked her head down and waited.
When the dirt settled around her, she groped for the side of the box, feeling for the top. Using the box for leverage, she pulled herself against it and pushed upward, straining against the weight of the soil still overhead.
She didn't know how deep the Emorlians had buried her, but she was certain she'd climbed out of deeper.
*****
Rodney peeked his head above the console to check his progress on the datapad. The new circuit board was in place, but the console was still shutting down immediately after Rodney powered it up.
The guard who'd blocked Rodney's way out of the lab moved into the doorframe, glaring hard at him.
Rodney glared back. He was already being forced to fix equipment he'd never seen before in order to save his friends; he wasn't about to be intimidated, too.
The guard retreated back into the hallway, revealing Mirek, the Emorlian scientist, standing behind him.
"I trust all is going well?"
"It would be going a lot better if I knew my friends were okay," Rodney spat at him.
"I'm sorry," Mirek said, dropping his head. "I had no idea this would happen."
"Why did this happen, anyway?" Rodney asked, running the new calculations through the simulation. If he could increase the console's efficiency, it might be less prone to overheating, and would buy the Emorlians more time. More time before they had to kidnap another scientist.
"I'm afraid the scope of such intel is outside my range of understanding," Mirek stated simply, lifting his head to meet Rodney's eyes.
"What the hell does that mean? It's above your pay grade?"
Mirek's brow twitched in confusion. "I'm afraid I don't--"
"Yeah, yeah, save it," Rodney said. "Look, if you're an actual scientist, then get your ass over here and help me fix this damn thing."
"I'm afraid I am not permitted," Mirek replied.
"'Not permitted'?"
"You are a prisoner," Mirek said, "as are your friends. To help you would be to commit treason."
Rodney glanced at the time. He was down to forty-seven minutes. He didn't have time to be chit-chatting with anyone.
"If you won't help, then stop distracting me," Rodney said, slamming the lower console door open again to reveal the viscera of the equipment. He didn't even notice Mirek leave the room as he got back to work.
*****
Hours, days, months went by, or at least that was how it felt.
John shifted in his coffin, ready to try again. If he could only get past the lid, maybe he could dig his way free.
He ran his fingers along the wood above his head, testing the strength of what was still intact, locating new fissures. He snagged his fingertip and recoiled sharply. Putting his finger to his mouth, he tasted blood.
Returning to his plan, he began pushing against the lid, feeling the weight of the earth pressing back against him. More dirt trickled on top of him, and something slick slid down his face, past his ear, inching under his collar. He felt for it to wipe it away, figuring it was rain water, and came back with a writhing, wriggling bug. He tossed it toward the foot of the coffin, his skin crawling as he frantically brushed at the spot again, and the sudden movement dislodged more earth into the coffin. He stopped moving completely, holding his breath as he waited for the earth to settle once more.
It was only a few seconds, a few tiny movements in the larger universe, but the weight was too much. John could hear the bolts ripping free of the wood as it splintered completely. John curled up as best he could, covering his head with his arms as dirt showered him; he could feel himself losing consciousness. He gasped as the earth pressed into him, crushing the air from his lungs.
John always believed his last thoughts would be of his parents, or his brother, of how he fucked up so many things and never could make them right. He thought surely he'd see Nancy in his last moments, flashing before his eyes with the rest of his strange little life. If he'd given it consideration lately, he'd be sure his team was there at the end, added to the last few frames in the editing room, the family he always wanted but knew he didn't deserve.
It was only Rodney he saw, his hands waving enthusiastically, his smile lighting up a room as he solved a new puzzle. Something in John began to ache, and he wasn't sure if it was the pressure of the earth now covering him, compressing his ribcage until he could hardly breathe, or if it was that feeling welling up inside him that he always refused to acknowledge, the one he got lately whenever he thought too long about Rodney--about wanting him.
But it no longer mattered.
John released another gasp of air, the last of his oxygen used, and he felt himself settle, the earth secure around him as it carried him to his fate.
*****
The task was complete. Rodney powered up the console, and it beeped to life. If he weren't down to the wire already, he might have poked around a bit to find out its function, but today he'd forego the exploration.
It wouldn't have been possible anyway. The guards were watching him, and they knew when he finished as soon he successfully turned on the device. Any triumph he may have felt was brief as the Ambassador had Rodney blindfolded and his hands bound behind him. He nearly tripped twice on the way to wherever they were taking him, and he couldn't help but panic at the thought that they had no intentions of returning John, Ronon and Teyla to him alive.
He felt his shoes shuffling through dirt and grass, and he knew they were outside. Men on either side of him held onto his arms to keep him moving in the right direction, and when they stopped, he heard the unmistakable sound of a DHD.
"You took them to another planet?" he asked, incredulous.
A punch to his stomach silenced him, and he waited to be pushed through the Gate.
On the other side, his hands were cut loose before he was shoved to the ground. He scrambled to get the blindfold off.
"You'll need this," the Ambassador said, dropping a folded piece of parchment to the ground. Then he signaled one of the guards, and he presented Rodney with a shovel. "Their burial spots are marked on the map."
Rodney grabbed the parchment as he stood. "Wait a minute, this wasn't part of the deal. I only have- I have sixteen minutes left!" Rodney frantically unfolded the map, noting the three distinct markings for each of his teammates. Together they formed a triangle, with the Stargate as the center-point.
"Then I suggest you hurry," the Ambassador said. "It's a pity you didn't work faster, Dr. McKay. Now you only have time to save one of them."
The Ambassador turned to redial the Gate. As the wormhole formed, Rodney reached out for his arm.
"At least tell me which one is which," Rodney begged.
The Ambassador paused before nodding. "Very well. You may select one of them."
"Fine, I want Ronon," Rodney said, forcing himself not to ask for John. Ronon had the least amount of time left, and he'd likely be the biggest help in saving the others. Rodney wasn't even sure he had the strength to unearth one grave, let alone three.
The Ambassador frowned and pointed to one of the markings on the map.
Rodney picked up the shovel and took off before the Emorlians walked back through the Gate.
*****
Tearing through the forest at a speed faster than he thought he could manage, Rodney ran toward the spot marked on the map where Ronon was buried. Running with the shovel was awkward, and he had to stop once to catch his breath, but he made it to the spot with four minutes to spare.
A rectangular patch of ground stuck out near a circle of trees to the right of the path. Rodney folded the map and stuffed it in his pocket, then began to dig.
With the running it took him to get there, he tired out more quickly then he imagined, sinking into the hole he'd started. Before he had a chance to push himself up and start again, he heard Ronon's voice, shouting beneath him.
"Oh, shit," Rodney exclaimed, and the banging that followed Ronon's voice sent a chill up Rodney's spine and a surge of adrenaline through his veins. He kept digging until the shovel hit something, and kneeling, Rodney brushed aside the dirt to partially reveal the wooden coffin. "Ronon!"
"McKay!"
Rodney stuck the end of the shovel into a crack in the box and pried the lid up. With Ronon pushing against it and Rodney leveraging the shovel to pull it, the lid was off and Ronon was free. He scrambled up and grabbed Rodney by the collar, pushing him back against the wall of the grave. His knuckles were scabbed over with half-dried blood and his arms were streaked brown and red. Ronon was breathing heavily, every muscle in his arms a taut line as he held Rodney in place.
Finally, Ronon released him. Then he hugged him.
Rodney breathed a sigh of relief, but it was a relief short-lived.
"We have to get to the others," he said, turning to climb out of the grave.
Ronon was out before Rodney could find a handhold, hoisting him up. "Sheppard and Teyla?"
Rodney nodded, pulling out the map. "They're here and here," he said, pointing to the two markings. "Only I don't know which one is which."
"We can split up, that way we'll make sure to get both of them out," Ronon suggested.
"No," Rodney said, "no, I've already thought of that and it's no good. There's only one shovel and I am exhausted. Not to mention the fact that I'm not letting you or anyone else out of my sight until we're back on Atlantis."
"McKay," Ronon said, picking up the shovel, "I think I'm touched."
"We'll just have to hope we find John first," Rodney said, trying to figure out which spot on the map to find next. "He'll run out of air before Teyla does."
"Yes, he will," a voice said behind him. "But I should think that would be obvious."
When Rodney turned around to find Teyla standing behind him, covered head to toe in dirt, he nearly had a heart attack right there. Instead, he yelped and staggered backwards against Ronon.
"I am glad to see you are both well," she said.
"How did you...?" Rodney asked.
Stepping forward, Ronon lifted one of Teyla's hands. It was dirty, and her nails were caked with soil. There were clumps of dirt and grass stuck in her hair and in odd places of her uniform, but her face was mostly clean. A water stain darkened the front of her shirt.
"You climbed out?" Ronon asked.
"I did," Teyla replied, taking the map as Rodney offered it. "It is part of an Athosian's training to learn how to handle a variety of situations. Live burial is one such situation."
Ronon shook his head. "Never been more glad I'm not an Athosian."
Teyla pointed to one of the two markings on the map. "This is where I was buried," she said. "That leaves this spot for John."
"We need to hurry," Rodney said, so Teyla led the way.
*****
When they reached the spot, Ronon immediately started to dig. Teyla found a large branch and sifted the dirt to loosen it in places before scooping it aside with her hands. Rodney followed suit, feeling like a dog attempting to uncover a bone, but he didn't care about that. All he cared about was getting John out of there.
Ronon ran into the box with the shovel, and Teyla brushed at the dirt. She stopped almost immediately, jerking her hand back. Rodney noticed the box lid had splintered open, the dirt caving it in almost completely.
"Oh, no," Rodney whispered, jumping into the grave beside Teyla. "John?"
Together they lifted away the larger pieces of the coffin lid, only to be faced with more dirt. Teyla reached her hands into the dirt and pulled it away in large clumps. John's body, half-turned on its side, began to take shape under Teyla's deft hands, his arms loosely covering his head.
"John? Can you hear me?" Rodney called out, helping Teyla lift him up towards Ronon. He noticed John's hands, one bloody and one wrapped in black cloth. Then he realized the sleeves of his button-down had been ripped off. It haunted him to think about John trying to free himself, only to be crushed under the weight of collapsing earth.
Grabbing John under each arm, Ronon pulled him out of the grave, laying him on the ground as Rodney and Teyla climbed out.
"He's not breathing," Ronon said, brushing dirt from John's mouth.
Rodney knelt beside John, searching his wrist for a pulse. "No-no-no-no-no," he muttered, starting chest compressions as Ronon breathed into John's mouth.
"Which way is the Gate?" Teyla asked Ronon.
He nodded in the direction of the path that would lead her to the Gate. Rodney paused long enough to tear off his GDO transmitter and handed it to her.
"I will return to Atlantis and send back a medical team," Teyla said, taking the transmitter and heading off without waiting for a response.
"Come on, Sheppard," Ronon said.
Another breath in, and John was spraying dirt on Ronon's face as he coughed, gulping in a huge breath of air when he cleared enough of the debris.
"Oh, thank god," Rodney mumbled, his heart skipping a beat as relief washed over him.
John curled on his side towards Ronon, lost in a coughing fit for a moment. Rodney bit back the instinct to explore every inch of him for further injury. Carson would be there soon enough.
"Welcome back, Sheppard," Ronon said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"Where'd I go?" John asked, his voice a low rasp.
"You were dead for a minute," Ronon replied. "We were almost too late."
"Ronon..." John wheezed, exerting obvious effort in order to sit upright. "Teyla?"
"She's coming back with a medical team," Rodney said, placing a hand on John's arm. "Take it easy, all right?"
"Rodney..." John leaned in and surprised Rodney by wrapping his arms around him.
Looking to Ronon as if for a cue, he hesitantly returned the embrace.
"Get me the hell outta here," John said.
"It won't be long before the med--"
"I don't care," John said, slowly standing. Ronon flanked him on the other side to keep him from falling down again.
"All right," Rodney said. "Let's go home."
"Teyla has your transmitter," Ronon reminded him.
"Then we'll make it back in time to meet the medical team when they come through," Rodney replied. "The sooner we're gone, the better."
"Think they might come back? Try to start something else?"
"I honestly don't know," Rodney said.
"Let's not wait around to find out," John said.
Taking some of John's weight against himself, Rodney followed Ronon back to the Gate.
*****
They all spent the night in the infirmary when they returned, as a precaution, Beckett said. Teyla collapsed from exhaustion before she could argue-not that John thought she would, but he definitely had-and Ronon just wanted the light left on when it got dark outside.
John had a few bruised ribs and some bloodied knuckles, both of which were expertly wrapped by a nurse. He was dehydrated, and he spent the entire night on oxygen. He found sleep easy enough, but he kept dreaming about clawing his way out of the coffin only to be suffocated by a mound of dirt burying him all over again.
When he was released, he didn't want to go back to his room. It felt too small just thinking about it.
Instead, he walked over to Rodney's bed.
Rodney must have been riding an adrenaline high to get that device fixed, and then to dig Ronon out of the ground, because when Beckett ran his tests, he noted his surprise that Rodney was still on his feet with his blood sugar as low as it was.
Taking Rodney's hand, John noticed wayward specs of dirt beneath his fingernails and attempted to brush them away. He hated it being there, the evidence of what they'd made him do. John watched Rodney sleeping for a moment, remembering the things he saw, almost dream-like, before he'd lost consciousness. The fact that Rodney had been so vivid and alive to him in his memory, compared to how still he was in the infirmary, set a fire inside John that he knew he couldn't control.
He reached up to his radio and paged Lorne to his office. It was time for some answers.
*****
Two teams of Marines stood before the Gate within the hour. John was already among them, ready to lead them through, when Lorne headed down the stairs towards the group. He sidled up next to John and watched him intently, rechecking his weapon and securing his vest.
"You sure you wanna do this, sir?"
"I'm sure," John replied, waving up at Chuck. The Gate began to dial.
As the seventh chevron locked, Teyla hurried into the Gateroom, clipping her weapon in place.
"If you are returning to the planet, I'm going with you," she said.
John only nodded as the Marines went through the Gate, one by one. When John walked through, Lorne and Teyla exchanged a worried glance before following him.
"Colonel Sheppard," Teyla called out as John led the Marines toward the Emorlian city. "I would like to know what plans you made by coming here," she said, catching up to him.
"You're seriously not going to try to convince me that these people could still be our allies?" John asked. "Because I can guarantee you, they're not."
"That may be, Colonel," Teyla said, "but retaliation is not the answer."
"I brought this mission before Woolsey, so if you're worried that it's not a sanctioned act of vengeance," John said, pausing, "don't be."
"Surely, Mr. Woolsey did not sanction an act of war?"
John stopped short, facing Teyla. "They buried us alive, Teyla, and I want to know why. That's the plan."
Teyla met his eyes, searching them. When she finally gave a nod of contrition, John continued walking.
Teyla fell back, walking alongside Major Lorne.
*****
They reached what John thought of as the Emorlian city hall, a gathering place for the same Emorlian council that greeted John and his team upon their first visit.
The Ambassador stood waiting for them atop the marble steps of the building, flanked by his own contingent of soldiers. He smiled coldly at John as he marched up the steps toward him.
"I must admit, I did not expect you both to live," he said, gesturing first to John and then Teyla. "Nor to see you here again."
"That's kinda why I'm here, Ambassador," John said. He stopped in front of him, a step below where the Ambassador stood, and stared at him through his aviator sunglasses. With a wave of his hand, the Marines behind him raised their weapons. The Emorlian regiment did the same.
The Ambassador halted the approaching soldiers.
"But first, we want our gear back," John said with a sneer. "Getting captured starts to get expensive after a while. I'm sure you understand."
The Ambassador nodded, narrowing his eyes. "Of course. The Emorlian people are always conscientious of practical matters." He gestured to two of the soldiers, who lowered their weapons before retreating through the double doors behind them.
"Your method of execution seems pretty cost-efficient," John said with a smirk barely attempting to conceal his ire. "I mean, hell, they're gonna end up six feet under anyway, right?"
The Ambassador drew himself up, peering down his nose at John. "It keeps our hands clean. The Emorlian people have strict pronouncements against taking life."
John chuckled dryly.
"'Keeps our hands clean'," he repeated. "Well, at least you understand the concept of irony."
"Sir," Lorne said softly behind him. "We should get what we came for and leave."
John nodded. "What we came for." He glanced down at his hand, checking the dirt under his fingernails, remembering the grime caked under Rodney's. Then his hand was wrapped around the Ambassador's throat as he shoved him backwards into the building, weapons cocking all around them but no one firing. He briefly registered that Lorne and his men had a gun on every one of the Emorlians, losing his sense of control along with his sunglasses as he overpowered the Ambassador.
The doors banged shut behind them as John pinned the Ambassador to the nearest wall.
"What are you-" he choked out.
John tightened his grip. He could feel the man's veins beating a pounding tattoo against his hand, his tendons running taut as he struggled. He watched the man's face purple for a moment, and then he let him go.
"What are you...?" He paused to cough furiously, gasping in air. "What will you do with me?"
John pondered for a moment. "Well, I thought I might bury you in a small wooden box, but that'd just be a waste of resources." He drew his sidearm and aimed it at the Ambassador's head. "I'll probably just shoot you instead."
"Will that not displease your masters?" the Ambassador spat out.
John wavered. "Masters?"
The Ambassador met John's stare with one of his own. "The Wraith, Colonel Sheppard. Surely, they'd prefer you bring me back to them as sustenance."
"You already know we're fighting the Wraith," John said. "Why would you think the Wraith are our masters?"
"Your friend, Ronon Dex," the Ambassador began. "The Satedan."
"What about him?"
"Kreygor's people were once a great nation among our stars," the Ambassador recalled. "Much of our technology came from them, including the Gate sensor array that your Dr. McKay helped us to repair."
John pushed the gun closer to the Ambassador's head. "That's another thing we're gonna have a talk about before I kill you."
"Kreygor called your friend 'the wandering one'. He told us stories of how he set the Wraith on his village long ago-and now he is among you. And you protect him! What other conclusion is there but that you both serve the Wraith?"
"Ronon hates the Wraith more than anyone I know," John said. "And probably more than anyone in this entire galaxy. So you might wanna check your accusations, Ambassador."
"It is said that every village in which he sets foot... the Wraith are soon to follow. Many suspected he worked for the Wraith, some even said he worshipped them. When Kreygor recognized his marking, I knew it was just a matter of time before the Wraith came here for a culling. I had to prevent it and if I could not, I had to see to it that my people would have protection in the future."
"And did the Wraith show up?"
"No, but that doesn't mean they are not coming."
John hesitated before lowering his gun. "Ronon was a Runner," he said. "The Wraith put a tracking device in him so they could hunt him-for sport. We crossed paths a few years back and my people were able to remove the device, so the Wraith aren't coming here anytime soon." John watched the man's face light up in horror.
"If..." the Ambassador whispered, his head dropping low. "If what you say is true, then we owe you a debt."
"It is true," John said, "and you can start repaying us by telling me about that machine you had McKay fix."
*****
John was the last one to sit at the table Teyla selected by the window, and Ronon was already halfway through his meal when he got there. Rodney was uncharacteristically poking at his food. Teyla was the only one who seemed relatively unchanged by the recent events on Emorla.
The sun was shining directly at them through the window as it climbed the morning sky. They were absorbed by silence, each of them lost to their own meditations.
When he finished his meal, Ronon dragged his tray aside before laying his hands on the table, splaying his fingers apart. He stared them down, as if they might hold terrible secrets that could betray him. Flexing his fingers a moment, Ronon picked at the edge of the bandages covering most of his hand, unwinding it slowly. One hand free, he flexed it again, the skin split open where it had yet to scab over. Then he reached for the salt shaker on Rodney's tray.
John let his own hand drop, the bite on his fork not reaching his mouth as he watched in fascination as Ronon started to shake salt over his hand.
"What are you doing?" Rodney asked, incredulous.
Ronon winced as the salt hit his open wounds. "Dries up the wound," he gritted out after a moment. "Heals quicker."
"Yeah," John said absently. "Sailors used to do the same thing on Earth." He caught Rodney now staring at him and realized he'd actually said that aloud.
"Used to?" Ronon asked.
"Yes, before the advancement of modern medicine, which, you know, we have now," Rodney said.
John shook his head and went back to his meal.
"So how'd the mission go anyway?" Rodney asked.
"Got our gear back," John said.
"You actually went back to that planet for some weapons and a couple of TAC vests?"
"No," John said. "I went to kill them, but Teyla didn't like that idea."
"You would not have liked it either, once it was over," Teyla said. She stared pointedly at John, raising her eyebrows with an encouraging gesture of her hand.
John frowned.
"We also learned the reason for their actions," Teyla said.
"Reason! Ha!" Rodney exclaimed. "I don't think "reason" ever entered into it."
"It was my fault," Ronon said, dusting another coat of salt over his hand. He closed his eyes and bit down against the pain.
"It was not your fault, Ronon," Teyla said, looking directly at him. She rested a hand on his arm, but Ronon didn't react. Teyla sighed, returning her attention to Rodney. "There is a man on Emorla by the name of Kreygor who told them stories about Ronon. He claimed that Ronon was a Wraith worshipper."
"Why would they think that?" Rodney asked.
"Because every time he came to a village, the Wraith followed and culled the people there," John said.
"Well, I sincerely hope you set him right!" Rodney said. "Ronon hates the Wraith more than anyone in Pegasus."
"I told them that, Rodney. Thank you."
"Good, good," Rodney said, and he finally started to eat.
Ronon picked up his tray and stood, setting the salt shaker on the table in front of Rodney before walking away.
"Seriously?" Rodney asked, turning to look at John when Ronon was out of earshot. "Sailors?"
"What?" John said. "I know stuff."
"Ronon slept outside last night," Teyla interrupted them.
Rodney perked up. "Really?"
She nodded. "I spoke with him this morning to see how he's been adjusting."
"Not well, it sounds like," Rodney replied.
"Like you're handling it any better," John said. "You played with your food for ten minutes after I sat down."
Rodney glared at him. "And you went back to that planet hell-bent on killing a bunch of people who not twenty-four hours previously were potential allies. I don't think any one of us is exactly coping with flying colors."
John shrugged, gesturing with his fork. "Teyla seems to be okay."
"I had previous training for such circumstances," Teyla said, "although I must admit it's difficult to watch the three of you in such states of duress."
"That's-" Rodney mumbled around his food. "Well, that's-that's a lovely sentiment."
"I still do not understand why they would entomb us all," Teyla added, "if that was their only reasoning."
"They still wanted Rodney to fix their machine," John told her. "Plus, they thought we were Wraith worshippers, too. Being Ronon's 'escorts' and all."
Rodney lowered his fork again. "It'll burn out again, eventually," he said. "Maybe even explode."
Despite his own intentions with the Emorlians, John didn't like the sound in Rodney's voice, like he was keen on vengeance. It took a different tone when it was coming from someone you cared about, and John now understood what Teyla must have felt watching him barrelling toward revenge.
"Did the Ambassador mention the machine's purpose?" Teyla asked.
"It was a Gate sensor array," John said. "Surveillance system. Gives them advanced warning for when the Wraith come through."
"What, like a storm warning system?"
John shrugged. "I guess. I didn't see it in action."
"It was Kreygor's people who built the device," Teyla said. "When they were culled, the Emorlians had no way of keeping it in repair."
Rodney nodded, staring down at his half-eaten tray of food. He gripped his fork but didn't lift it.
"Rodney," John said softly. "You okay?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine, it's just-" He stammered, stopped, started again. "Muscle exhaustion," he finally said, "at least, according to Carson. It's, uh, it's difficult to lift my arms."
John didn't know what to say to that; luckily, Teyla broke the ice for him.
"Would you like some assistance, Rodney?" she asked with an odd twinkle in her eye. "With my experience with Torren, I believe I am well-qualified."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Thank you, but I think I can manage."
"If push comes to shove, you can always Hoover it up," John said, elbowing Rodney gently.
John was glad to see him laugh then, the first hint of a smile he'd seen from him since he helped bring John back to life.
*****
By the time John knocked on the door to Rodney's quarters, he realized too late that he probably should have showered and changed before coming over. There wasn't anything much worse than the smell of stale mission following you around.
John raised his hand to knock again, but the door opened with a sigh before he could, revealing an immobile Rodney McKay lying flat on his bed, facedown. He mumbled something that sounded like "Figured it was you," but he didn't move.
John stared into the dark room, suddenly confronted with the overwhelming sense of being engulfed by darkness. Rodney stirred, looking up at John as he braced himself in the doorway, shutting his eyes tight.
"John?" His voice was soft and full of concern.
He opened his eyes to see the lights were now on inside the room, Rodney still mostly lying on his bed, only now he was propped up on one quivering arm. He dropped back down as John entered, the door shutting behind him.
"Hi," John said.
"Forgive me for not greeting you at the door, Colonel," Rodney mumbled into his pillow. John barely understood him.
"Is this a bad time?"
Rodney opened one eye and peered sideways up at him. "That depends on why you're here."
And that reminded John why he was there in the first place. He'd been kicking himself over his feelings for so long, it was time to let it go. Move on. If Ronon could pour salt into his own open wounds because he thought it would help? John could certainly tell Rodney how he felt about him.
Problem was, John used to be well-prepared for rejection. This time it was different; this time...
His team was the closest thing to real family John had ever known. Did he really want to jeopardize that?
"John?" Rodney pushed himself off the bed, and it looked like a Herculean effort.
Bad time for confessions, John thought as Rodney tugged him toward the bathroom.
"Are you okay? You look like you're freaking out."
He didn't know what he could possibly look like to lead Rodney to draw that conclusion, but it couldn't be good.
Rodney gently guided John to sit on the edge of the bathtub. He grabbed the hand towel from the counter and ran it under the faucet, then folded it and draped it over the back of John's neck. It was cool against his skin, and for some reason, John felt himself blushing at the gesture.
"What's that for?" he asked.
"Oh, it, uh... It was something my mother used to do."
Rodney's hand rested by his side for a moment, at John's eye-level. He could still see the dirt under Rodney's fingernails and wondered if Rodney had even tried cleaning them. He stood, grabbing the towel as it slipped from his neck, and took Rodney's hand in his. Thinking the faucet on, he directed Rodney's hand to the water, calmly cleaning away the dirt.
This time, when Rodney spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.
"John," he said, not a question or a demand, but an acknowledgement, a thank you.
Glancing up once, John saw a burning intent in Rodney's eyes as he watched John work. With one hand clean, John took the other and repeated the ministration.
When he was finished, John thought the water off as he fished for a dry towel from the cabinet. Finding one, he wrapped Rodney's hands in it to soak up the excess water, then searched them again to make sure he hadn't missed a spot. He dared a glance at Rodney; the inital look of confusion on Rodney's face had turned to marvel at the focused care John had given his hands.
"This is why you came over?" Rodney asked.
John could only nod. He couldn't fully meet Rodney's eyes, his focus returning to his hands. There were calluses on Rodney's fingers congruent with his own, evidence of Rodney's shifting focus from the lab to the field. His palms were broad enough that John felt his own hands were small by comparison.
Finally finding the courage to look up, he stepped closer into Rodney's personal space. Rodney didn't move, just let him come closer. When their faces were only a few inches apart, Rodney closed his eyes, tilting his head as John leaned in to kiss him.
Their lips brushed tentatively first, until John felt his courage rise and he moved his lips against Rodney's like he'd been doing it for years.
And Rodney didn't simply return the kiss; he slipped his hands from John's (and that noise John made was not a whimper of disappointment) so he could cup John's face and deepen the kiss. A feeling of lightness overcame John as he allowed the exploration.
After a moment, they parted, both breathing heavily, Rodney's reaction bright on his face.
"Holy crap, I just kissed you," Rodney whispered.
"Yeah," John said. "That was a lot closer to why I came over."
"Well, I'm glad you did," Rodney said. "I mean, really glad."
John pulled Rodney closer until their foreheads touched, releasing a breath he felt he’d been holding for days. Rodney's reply was to pull John into his arms and hold him the way he did in the forest, after digging his body from beneath a mound of earth and bringing him back to life. John rested against him, burying his face in Rodney’s shoulder, and he smiled.
**
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