Supply and Demand Stolen Part 5/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)
Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 5/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)
Author: tari_roo
Rating: PG13 (Gen)
Fandom: SPN/SGA
Chapter 5
“Your timing is getting better.”
Lorne shrugged, “You give me plenty of opportunity to practice, sir.” It was difficult to summon enough ire to truly impress upon his XO his lack of appreciation for that comment with only one eye and a face of hamburger, but Sheppard gave it his best shot.
Major Lorne remained impervious though and said with a straight face, looking at the battered buildings, “Didn’t you implement a rule about going sightseeing without telling anyone, sir?”
“No, that was your other CO, Evan.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah the one laughing on the other side of my face. I get it, I get it, alright.” Sheppard side stepped, twisting to face Lorne a little more, grateful to be armed again, even if it was only a sidearm. Lorne turned and raised an eyebrow, studying his CO closely, which John didn’t really appreciate.
Lorne drawled, “Sir, no one is going to follow your rules if when you break them, you stumble across a massive Trust operation and piss them off long enough to get rescued. A bad example of the necessity of following rules.”
“Eh, what can you do,” John shrugged minutely, feeling the pull of a bruise over the leftside of his chest. Lorne just nodded solemnly, refusing to smile, let alone laugh.
“Care to fill me in, sir?” he said instead, hefting his P-90 and nodding at Lieutenant Hamma, who was arriving with two Corporals in tow after a swift perimeter sweep, all three nodding an all clear.
“You mean you didn’t get an earful from Rodney already?” John sighed, glad everyone from the Trust expedition had been accounted for.
“I did, sir, but I seem to have selective deafness around Dr. McKay. Character flaw, I know. One I am cultivating.”
Sheppard nodded, slowly, wincing minutely as he too tried not to grin. Bulky Marines, pissed off that they hadn’t got the chance to blow anything up, let alone shoot bad guys, were securing the immediate area, using plastic ties to restrain the Trust mercenaries, a small pile of weapons growing off to the right as the men were disarmed. The scientists were easy to corral, best happy when in the midst of a herd of fellow pacifists or men smart enough to not poke at disgruntled Marines.
You could hear Rodney over near the shield and panel, yelling at ... someone or something, or maybe just the situation in general. Hands now free to work their magic, McKay was... agitated, at the very least, terrified out of his mind at worst. And the reason John knew that Rodney was terrified was not due to his usual bluster but was standing out in the open, as far away from everyone as Teyla and Ronon would let him.
After any sort of combat situation or conflict, you tended to vibrate with lingering adrenalin for a while. Heart rate slowly returning to normal, the sheen of sweat cooling you down. But the Marines were still twitchy, hands tight but relaxed on weapons, ready for anything, eyes scanning the perimeter. You’d think they were on a Hive or in the middle of Bagdad and not on a secure world. The prisoners were restless, eyes drawn to the three unconscious, maybe dead colleagues. The former soldiers were watching the Marines with careful, professional looks, which in turn only made the Marines more tense. The hushed buzz from the scientists and support personnel wasn’t helping, an undercurrent of worry and fear. It was all very ... tense.
You could taste Rodney’s fear, like a sour sensation at the back of your throat, unsettling your stomach. Everyone could, added with their own and their colleagues. And it made them scared, and nervous and worried, and add that to the fear of being captured, the shame of being defeated and the air was heavy with anticipation.
And everyone also knew why they were feeling ‘overwrought’. Only the short little guy, Augusto, though was staring at the source.
“Stupid, piece of ancient junk!”
Rodney was always loud, but this echoed. The level of emotion ratcheted up as Rodney started stabbing at his tablet, a mumbled stream of imprecations directed at the equipment. McKay was probably feeling the same rise in emotion, and getting more and more agitated, which fed back into the general mix. Those circles sure were vicious.
Shoving aside his own rising fear and worry in action and purpose, Sheppard sighed, “Lorne, would you ...”
Evan was already moving though, leaving John to stand awkwardly on his own, favouring his ribs, and pretending that the two heavily armed Sergeants hovering near him wasn’t an insult but a testament to their devotion. If pressed though, the Sergeants would probably only admit to the frustration of keeping crazy assed COs alive despite their best efforts to off themselves by going offworld without Marines. There was a brief argument by the dome, before Lorne just grabbed McKay’s tablet and walked off, leaving McKay spluttering. Rodney followed Lorne with a wave of verbal outrage and snapped at Sheppard, “What? Busy here trying to determine if we are all going to die!” He snatched his tablet back from Lorne, withering glare unheeded.
Calmly, firmly, gently, John said, “I understand that, Rodney. But you need to calm down.”
“Calm down? Calm down!” The exclamation mark was audible. Before Sheppard could interject Rodney steamrolled on, “We all may have been exposed to deadly radiation during that lightning freak show and you want me to calm down?”
“Yes, and if we had, wouldn’t we be dead by now?” Sheppard replied as calmly as one could when told about possible radiation leaks.
McKay waved that aside with the all condescension the inconsequential warranted, “So maybe I exaggerated a little, a lot, to impress upon those morons the seriousness of the situation.” Rodney shot a glare at Augusto. “Seriously though, it could have taken months, years for everyone to die, or seconds. It was a million years ago, and the Ancients, in their concise and logical madness failed to make note of that, if they confirmed anything at all!”
“So we could have been exposed to radiation?” John said.
Rodney did the Flappy Hands of Doom and flustered, “Did I not just say that? And I am trying to confirm our impending deaths with a piece of crap scanner that refuses to interface!”
Rodney turned to stalk back, but John snapped firmly, “Fine. Go check. But do it calmly.”
“What! Why?” McKay barked, turning on his heel.
Rolling his eyes and lowering his voice more, Sheppard said, “You may be the most obtuse man on this planet Rodney, but we’re all feeling a little bit too tense and worried for a rescue gone well. Unknown radiation aside, considering you were the only one aware of that possibility.”
Sheppard caught Rodney’s gaze, tried to ‘will’ insight through his sometimes thick skull and McKay threw up his hands and said, “Of course there’s tension, we may all be dead! I don’t see ....” Luckily Rodney paused to take breath and glare at Sheppard and then put two and two together. His eyes shot over to Dean Winchester like lightning and he paled, “Oh.”
“Oh.” Sheppard nodded, “So, let’s be a little less overwrought, McKay, and stop freaking the Empath out with our melodrama.”
Rodney opened his mouth, closed it, glared at Lorne who was hiding a smile and snapped, “Life threatening danger, Sheppard. Deadly radiation!”
“Abused, agitated, on the edge Empath, McKay.”
“Fine, but I’m not happy about it.”
“Yes, Rodney, you are.”
McKay flounced off, and while the tense atmosphere didn’t diminish immediately, after a few minutes of Rodney working quietly on the panel and LSD, things seemed to calm down a notch or two. Idly watching Teyla try and talk to Winchester, Sheppard said out of the corner of his mouth to Lorne, “You got a jumper prepped for medi-vac?”
“Yes, sir. In the Gate Room, Dr Beckett on board.”
“Relay the message on potential radiation exposure. Get Beckett out here with hazmat suits. Help calm the storm.”
“Or feed the fire.”
Lorne relayed the message quietly, projecting as much professionalism in his voice as possible. With the two senior officers looking calm and relaxed, the Marines started to ease down a little too, no matter the tense atmosphere.
“Maybe if you sat down, sir?”
“Won’t be able to get back up.”
Lorne’s gaze spoke volumes and Sheppard sank down into the chair one of his Marine shadows had brought over. “Thanks. Maybe I should go over and talk to him.” Sheppard listed over to one side, breathing through the aches and pains making themselves known.
“Who, the Empath?”
“Yeah.”
Lorne shook his head, “Probably not a good idea. Sent Peters over there to check if everything was ok and he said he nearly threw up he felt so weirded out.”
Perplexed, forehead furrowed, Sheppard mused, “Teyla and Ronon seem ok.”
“Not in uniform with guns, maybe,” Lorne offered, to which John barked out an incredulous laugh, “It’s Ronon!”
Lorne shrugged, smiling along with Sheppard and John waved it off, “Fine, I’ll let Teyla handle it for now.”
To this Evan agreed with feral grin and straightened, back ramrod, “Good. Because the men and I would like to know who did that to your face, sir?”
The two Marines snapped to attention with instant precision, their eagerness to wreck violent retribution kinda sweet. Sheppard though shook his head, “Oh, not really important right now, Major.”
“I would disagree, sir. If we are all going to die, I am certain that some people can meet their ends a little sooner than others.” There was general agreement from the Sergeants, both pretending not to be utterly fascinated with the conversation.
Snorting, John huffed, “So bloodthirsty, Lorne. You’ve been spending too much time to the Jarheads.”
“Them with me, sir.” The bristling disagreement from the Marines, nonverbal but oh so palpable was cute. And he must have been hit in the head one too many times if he was equating Marines with words like sweet and cute.
Swiftly changing tack, hoping to leave behind the topic of his face, John leant back in the chair with an involuntary hiss and muttered, “Usually by now, I’d be yelling at McKay to get a move on.”
“You want me to go ‘be you’,” Lorne offered.
“No, being me right now sucks. Let’s just leave it.”
Maybe Rodney was missing being yelled at because he stalked over, a little black thundercloud of restrained anger. “Damn thing won’t be definitive. Either we are safe and nothing leaked or we’re dead. So... no clue.” Glaring at John, McKay snapped, “Better send for Dr Beckett, Voodoo Medicine Man in the fancy red Santa suit.”
“Already done.” McKay looked at Lorne for confirmation, and Lorne just raised an eyebrow. “Fine. Good. Whatever.” Rodney sat down in the chair next to Sheppard and sighed, “I blame you for this entirely.”
“I know you do.” McKay contemplated his choice of response, paused as he took in Sheppard’s slouch and then Lorne beat him to the punch, “So, sir, while we wait for Beckett.. or death…. How about that name?”
“Who, the guy who did that to his face?” McKay twisted in his chair, heading snapping around like a top. Three nods, one groan. Delighted to be of assistance, Rodney helpfully pointed at Nikolai and said, “Big hulk of dumbass over there, with the large forehead.”
The Marines smiled and Sheppard hissed, “Down boys. Down.”
Lorne though looked contemplative and the Marines looked scary and luckily the medi-vac Jumper arrived timeously to distract revenge-bent Marines and XOs. Unfortunately, Marines are very single-minded when they want to be, and Nikolai would probably be tripping, a lot. Especially onto fists.
Oh well, John thought. Too bad, so sad.
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In the grand scheme of things, this situation right here was totally and utterly messed up. Maelstrom of emotion aside, his and everyone elses, Dean had one thought uppermost in the mess that was his head. First time someone has touched him, hugged him willingly, with no other motive than to damn comfort him in two years , and all he could think was, ‘Shit, I can’t feel her breasts with that vest on.’
Which was followed by ‘what a douche’ and stepping away from her. Now though, heart beats into this new sensation of being ‘free’ and shit, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The rush of adrenalin was overwhelming, not to mention the shitstorm of emotion rolling off everyone.
Except her.
Clenching his fists, knuckles going white, Dean wished he had pockets or something to stick them in. Never mind that he was trembling all over, his hands were the dead giveaway that something was wrong, that he wasn’t in control. He stuck them under his arms, folded arms tight, trying to settle, but he felt exposed, on display like some victim of abuse and trauma, so instead he started pacing.
Near her.
She was frigging awesome. Either she was an Empath with major barriers or some hot alien chick with weird powers, because she was a dead spot of emotion. Nil, nothing, nada. And that... was frigging awesome. Dredging up all those memories and emotions about Sam and Dad had been awful, and awfully good. He was feeling kinda on edge, like he could go both ways, tears or fists.
The dude wasn’t too bad either. Laid back, at ease. Looked tough. Not too much emotion.
Dean knew he was pacing more around her than anything else, but she didn’t seem to mind and she waved off some sickly looking Corporal. Dread Dude was lounging near a rock, keeping an eye on him no doubt, but since it was a quiet, non-emotional eye, Dean didn’t care.
If everyone else would just shut up!
The blowback of energy and emotion from Taylor had been intense, sure. Not only had it shattered the tatters of that damn chain, but Dean felt raw and open, like he was bleeding out, leaking emotion and shit all over the place. Usually it took days to reign in all that emotion, but this felt pretty bad and Dean knew he was projecting both his emotions and the feedback from everyone in the vicinity. Made for a lot of headaches.
He might have actually killed someone. Probably had.
Shoving that thought aside, not sure, no definitely sure he couldn’t afford to dwell on that, not without imploding or breaking down, Dean picked up the pace, bouncing on his toes a little. Man, he wanted to spar. Hit something, hit someone. No crying, definitely no crying.
Where in the hell are you, Sam?
Or run, yeah, run until his legs were burning and his chest was so tight his vision would grey out. Run until he couldn’t feel anything. Yeah.
“It’d be best to remain here, I think.”
Dean whirled and stared at her. She looked, calm and quiet, an exotic mix of warrior and mother, someone who’d keep you line with love and a swift kick up the backside. Unconsciously folding his arms and sticking his hands in his pits again, Dean stared at her. She smiled back steadily, and said, “I am Teyla, and this is Ronon.” Dread Dude nodded, and Dean grunted in reply.
Now that he was standing still long enough to notice, the grass felt long and soft, and totally wrong. Dean looked down, crunched his toes into the spongy stuff that was just a little too green for comfort, like it was pretending to be green but was red on the inside. Looking up, Dean hugged himself a little tighter as the very light blue sky swam in the hazy heat of two suns.
Shit. Shit. Totally messed up. Barefoot on alien grass. Shit.
“Dean? Your name is Dean, yes?”
Short nod, and Dean swallowed the rising emotion of fear and confusion, trying very hard not think about the fact that he was on an alien planet, alone with a crowd of strangers staring at him. ‘Keep it together, Winchester!’
“I don’t know if you were told, or what you know... but obviously you are no longer on Earth.”
Yeah, figured that one out already. Dean smiled sarcastically at her, Teyla, and bounced on his heels, toes still curled in the grass. “We are on PX 057, or Catastrophe, in the Pegasus Galaxy.”
Teyla was looking at him, no doubt watching for a reaction. And as shocking as it was confirming he wasn’t just on an alien world, but in another galaxy as well, that emotion was kind of lost in the sea of tension and nerves washing over him, from him, through him. Standing still wasn’t helping. He really needed to hit something. Someone.
“You needn’t worry yourself, we will be able to return you to Earth.”
Ha! Dean snorted. No, thanks. Not if it meant going back to T&E. No way. The very thought of going back made his stomach roll and heave with fresh fear. Not good, not good. Don’t think about it, just focus on the here and now. Needing to move, and push that aside, Dean started pacing again, running his hands through his hair, clenching clumps of hair, holding tight, willing his racing heart to calm down, just calm the hell down.
Man, he needed a haircut. Hair was too damn long.
“Dean?”
‘Shit, scaring the nice natives again, Winchester. ‘
Teyla didn’t look scared, more concerned and that was harder to take. Ronon the barbarian though, he was easy to look at. Wasn’t worried about him until he flipped out and started killing people with his mind.
Shit.
That brought a stream of memories coloured in emotion, Taylor’s scream as Dean connected, the sensation of Yellow Eyes tearing at his chest...
“Dean.”
How in the hell did she get so close? Dean stepped back hands out stretched grateful for the distraction but needing her away. Teyla stayed were she was. She wasn’t smiling anymore but hell if he could tell what she was feeling. “Will you let me look at your wrists, they are bleeding again.”
A little off topic, Dean looked down and was surprised to find out she was right. Dean lowered his hands, staring at the bloody bandages Taylor had put there. Thinking of Taylor made his heart pound and chest ache again, so Dean shoved that aside too and thought instead, ‘Great, now I look like an emo who tried to off himself.’
But as Teyla reached out to take his hands, Dean stepped back, out of reach, shaking his head. He was so wide open right now, touching him would hurt. Hurt her. The hug had caught him off guard, but now... now giving him medical attention would be painful... for the medic.
Teyla stressed with as much sincerity as she could, “I won’t hurt you.”
‘No but I will’. Dean shook his head and wished for the third time that he had pockets to hide his hands in. Teyla’s big ass gun was swinging off her vest. Some boar of a Marine had handed it to her without so much as a second glance and now it swung enticingly in view. ‘Yeah think about the gun, focus on the gun.’ It looked new, a modified FN P90 maybe? Probably a P90 USG. Man, it’d be cool to take that apart.
“Would you like to?”
‘Did he say that out loud, or was she telepathic?’
Dean stared at her, trying not to think anything, but naturally when you try not think dirty thoughts it only makes your stream of consciousness a stream of filth. But she didn’t blush or slap him, so maybe she wasn’t telepathic. Just perceptive. And hell yeah, he wanted to take a crack at that gun.
Teyla unhooked the weapon and said, “This is a P90, bullpup design, ambidextrous controls and with revised optic system, 28mm.” She said it like rote, something learned and not really understood. But now Dean really wanted a look. Teyla passed it over and said simply, “No shooting.”
‘Yes ma’am.’ Never mind the handing over of a weapon to potential crazy people. It was Christmas time. Dean sank to the ground, ignoring the pull of bruises and strained muscles, folded his legs and sat Indian style. The P90 was straightforward plug and play assembly, and came apart smoothly. Well maintained, clean, oiled. Like a good military weapon should be.
Assembling was a little trickier, but Dean figured it out and as he broke the weapon down again, he heard more than felt Ronon squat next to him. The big guy watched as he assembled and broke down the gun over and over again, getting faster and faster. The motion and mindless familiarity of a gun in his hands was a balm, a frigging balm of Gilead.
Ronon watched for a while, then stood up and disappeared. Just as the P90 was getting to be too easy, too practiced, a collection of AKs, KACs, a couple of H&Ks, a battered Colt and few handguns were plopped in front of him. Squinting up, ignoring the shiver the sight of two suns gave him, Dean stared up at Ronon, who shrugged. Teyla had somehow snuck up on him again, already seated on his left, and Ronon now on his right.
But it didn’t feel penned in, or trapped. It felt... nice. There was an old Desert Eagle in the bunch, an elephant killer. Dean didn’t even touch it. Instead he picked up an innocuous glock and stripped it down, fast.
At some point in the ritual of breaking down and building up a firearm, repeated over and over, the storm of emotion had quieted down, a buzz of discontent now but it was at the very edge of worrisome. It was easier locking away the memories and emotions, putting them back where they belonged when he had something else to focus on. Ronon was following him, watching him strip a gun and then copy the movements. Teyla was just sitting, watching.
And it was nice.
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Taylor had laughed at him for making contingency plans. Augusto knelt quietly among his colleagues, projecting calm reassurance and certainty. Dr Messer, who was young and prone to panic was quivering next to him, muttering a stream of worry over his career, dying on an alien world and just about anything else he could think of.
His core people though were cool, and collected, waiting for his signal and whatever plan he chose to play out. Russo would ensure the scientists were in line, including Messer. Nikolai and Greer had the mercs under control. All they needed was his go ahead… on whichever plan he decided on.
Augusto smiled internally, his outer expression detached. Colonel Sheppard was keeping a close eye on him. The man was no fool. He knew Augusto was still in the game, hell, he even knew there was still a game to play. The Trust were in Pegasus and Sheppard would take that personally.
The only hiccup in Miles Augusto’s plan was Taylor. The idiot had lost control and now all three kinetics were out, maybe permanently. And Dean Winchester was a wildcard. Having been kidnapped and forced to work with the Kinetics, he’d be in no mood to trust Augusto. But, there was still a possibility there. The SGC would send Winchester back to Earth and T&E. So maybe a promise that Winchester could stay out of T&E if he worked for the Trust, would persuade him to throw his hand in with them. Maybe.
First priority though was to confirm if they had indeed been exposed to radiation. Augusto was mature enough to admit that he had got swept up in the excitement of actually cracking the safe and getting the weapon. That character flaw was exactly why he was with the Trust and not still running a successful imports and acquisitions business. But that was what back up plans were for.
A fourth Gate Ship from Atlantis landed and medical staff in hazmat suits emerged. Augusto’s on the fly contingency plan was simple. If they had been exposed, the others would create enough of a distraction for him to reach his tent and send a signal Dumbeni, advising of the loss of the objective. The other Trust teams in Pegasus would have to then reallocate resources.
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“You look like a reject from a Sci Fi B-movie, Carson. What in the hell took you so long?” Rodney was drapped over a chair, lounging as only he could, his knee bobbing in perpetual motion of agitation. Carson ambled over, his view obscured by the thick plastic of the hazmat suit visor. Carl and Cho were setting up a scanner from Medical storage designed to isolate and identify radiation. Nurse Zwane had already moved over to the few visibly wounded, her long, lithe figure hidden in the voluminous suit.
Closing the distance to McKay and Sheppard, Carson huffed, “Aye, Rodney. Be that as it may, we got here as soon as we could. Now, Colonel, can you wait while I check on the prone fellows?” He waved in the direction of the three men, apparently Kinetics.
Rodney sat up straight, scanner and tablet clutched tightly, eyes flinty, “What? No, he can’t! And why aren’t you scanning for deadly radiation?”
Without bothering to direct Rodney’s attention to the men at the Jumper, Beckett put down his medkit and sighed, “Because I know how to delegate Rodney. Colonel?”
Sheppard looked awful, his face red and puffy, one eye completely shut. But the bleeding was minimal, although Carson wanted to check the eye behind the swollen lid for damage. And knowing the Colonel, he’d have a few body shots too, bruised ribs at least. Naturally though, Sheppard drawled, “Yes, Carson. I can wait. Go check the ‘prone.’” Sheppard was slouched in his chair, but genuinely looked like he could keep, for now.
Ignoring Rodney’s inarticulate grumblings, Carson waddled over to the three Kinetics, the stiff material of the Hazmat suit crunching and creaking as he went. Ronon’s frantic demand for backup had meant two things. Armed and ready to fight Marines, and no available medic, corpsman for the trip. Hopefully the immediate provision of medical assistance would not have been needed for these three.
Groaning a little as his knees creaked, Carson knelt next to the nearest and bloodiest man. It was a little difficult feeling for a pulse through gloves and a suit, but his medical scanner confirmed his covered fingers. Dead. The guy’s face was covered in blood and Carson would have to do an autopsy to confirm cause and time of death as there was nothing discernable. Not wasting time on the dead, he waved Zwane over to check the third, while he knelt at the second.
This man, blonde and pale, moaned as Carson touched him. His pulse was thready and rapid, breath shallow. Suffering from shock at least, but the severity would be the tricky part. As Carl yelled out, “All clear, sir! No signs of radiation, of any kind,” Carson took off his gloves and checked the man’s pupils. Dilated pupils and his skin was cold and clammy. But other than shock, and bleeding from eyes, nose and ears, there was no visible trauma. “Well, lad. Best get you back to the infirmary and check what happened inside that brain.”
“Doctor?”
Nurse Zwane, her hazmat suit helmet off, looked up at Carson and said briskly, “Unconscious, sir. Hypertensive and suppressed breathing.”
“Ok, let’s get both of them back to Atlantis, and under the scanner. Who knows what’s going on with their brains.” Zwane waved Cho over, signalling she wanted backboards and neck braces. “That one, doctor?”
“Dead, I’m afraid.” She nodded, checking the pulse of her patient again. Carson stood to let Carl take over and he said brightly, “Right, I’ll go wrangle with the Colonel, then. See if I can get him to come back with you.” But Sheppard had been watching the proceedings and as Carson stood, John waved him off, and pointed towards Teyla.
“Ah.”
Swallowing a jolt of nerves, Carson tore off the hazmat helmet and headed towards the large pile of dissembled guns. Rodney’s voice echoed over the area with embarrassing volume, “Who in the hell gave the PsychoEmpath a gun? Many guns? Are we trying to ...”
Wincing, Carson shot a concerned glare over his shoulder at McKay, but Sheppard was standing, and had pulled Rodney close. Whatever the Colonel was saying was inaudible but Rodney was going red, and shaking his head. John looked angry though and the little spectacle had drawn an audience. The prisoners, still on their knees, hands on head were staring at everyone, but especially the Empath. The Marines were watching the prisoners, but shooting concerned glances at Ronon, Teyla and the Empath. Pushing aside his own worries, Carson hurried closer to the trio and returned Teyla’s smile.
All three stood, the Empath backing off a little, his expression closed. Teyla though reached out and took the medkit from Carson, and said, “Dr Beckett, this is Dean.”
Ronon was staring at the guns, pouting as much as a grown man who could kill you with his hair could, and muttered, “Stupid McKay.” Getting decidedly hot in the suit, Carson let Teyla help him with the neck clasp and replied, “Oh, yes. Rodney doesn’t seem to have developed the sense God gave a gnat, no matter how brilliant he says he is. Ah, thank you, Teyla.”
Opening up the neck of the suit and letting some air in, Carson coughed, “Couldn’t find my own suit in the rush and whoever used this one last ate a crapload of curry, and I mean that.” Teyla and Ronon smiled, but the Empath, Dean, just took another step back.
“Aye, lad. That’s a good idea, why don’t we step back out of everyone’s eyeline. Modicum of privacy. And some shade.” Beckett smiled and motioned for them to move. It wasn’t much more privacy than before, and as Carson looked behind him he saw that Sheppard had everyone else in motion.
Carl and Zwane were escorting the injured onto the Medi-vac Jumper, and the other prisoners were being divided up into groups. McKay had stalked off to the entrance of the large dome, scowling and stabbing at his tablet. “Right, then. Ronon, Teyla if you’d perhaps give us...”
The spike of fear was sudden, and Carson felt his stomach drop and his heart rate escalate. All three of them blinked and Ronon shook his head, like he was trying to shake it off. Dean coloured slightly but crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.
“Alright, perhaps just a little space, then.” Teyla looked hesitant but nodded. Ronon though just took two steps back and stayed put. Dean didn’t look hurt, other than signs of bleeding like the Kinetics, but Sheppard had sent him, so Carson tried to project as much reassurance as he could. Empaths were so rare, he’d never even met one before, let alone treated one.
“Dean. I just want to check that you’re ok, not hurt in any way that can’t wait for the Infirmary. You...”
“I’m fine.”
Well, judging by his voice, Dean was anything but fine. Hoarse, hollow, and broken, it sounded like he’d swallowed glass. “Well, you don’t sound fine. I’ll be quick, I promise.”But Dean remained unmoved, the steady stream of anxiety and fear tinged by anger now. And maybe just a little defiance.
Carson though had years of experience in dealing with reluctant patients, and had honed those skills in Atlantis. And he knew just enough about Empaths and their abilities to say, “You may be worried about hurting me, I understand or probably just tired of being poked and prodded, but I need to be sure you’re not going to collapse on me, ok?”
Dean stared for a moment at them all, shot a glance at the patches of blood in the distance and nodded. Moving fast, but cautiously, Carson stepped forward and Teyla gave him more space. As Carson gently took Dean’s wrist, the prick of pins and needles was sharp but not unexpected. His pulse was steady, a little too fast, but within reason.
The sensation of pins and needles faded and then surged as Carson checked the bloody bandages, tsking at the dirt and grass stains. “Teyla, be a dear...” Teyla had fresh bandages ready, and Carson efficiently cleaned and rewrapped Dean’s wrists, biting his lip a little at the spikes of pain. It wasn’t too bad, the reciprocal pain, but it was definitely unpleasant.
Dean’s pupils were a tad dilated and he was probably suffering from low grade shock. Checking a few neurological indicators, Carson was satisfied that there was nothing emergent, at least neurologically.
Pulling out a stethoscope, Carson held Dean’s bicep gently, took his blood pressure and then listened to his heart. Blood pressure confirmed the low grade shock, but his heart beat was strong. In the cooler shade of the tall white building, they were all sweating less, but the heat of the day was not diminishing, even if noon had passed. Stepping back, smiling a little as he noted the stream of fear had all but evaporated, Carson asked, “Anything else, lad? On the whole you’re ok, but I’d like to do a full exam when we get back.”
Ronon was sitting on the grass, plucking at blades while Teyla watched the Marine’s sort the prisoners. There were too many prisoners for three Jumpers, unless they all squished for the ride home. Zwane and Carl were standing by the Medical Jumper, waiting impatiently. Carson turned at Teyla’s, “Dr Beckett,” and he tapped his radio. “Go ahead, head on back. We can wait.”
They nodded and went inside the Jumper, its long body lifting off the ground smoothly. Dean was watching the Jumper fly off, and Carson said softly, “Well, lad? Anything else to declare?”
Vaguely, Dean waved at his ribs, still watching the Jumper disappear over the City. Carson hmphed, and pointed at the grey t-shirt. “Lift it for us, then.” Absently, Dean did so. Beckett couldn’t help the low whistle. The bruises weren’t deep or red, but they were many, new and old. At Carson’s whistle, Dean looked down, held up his t-shirt some more and shrugged as if to say, ‘Fancy that.’
Carson was always gentle, but ribs and bruises needed firm fingers to determine cracks or breaks. He tentatively reached out to check the deepest, angriest looking one, more purple and green than anything, and snatched his fingers back. The jolt of pain had been sharp, almost hot.
“Sorry,” Dean grated out, but it sounded more like, told you. Looking up from his crouch, Carson said sharply, “You need anything for the pain?”
Dean smiled, sorta sad and sarcastic, “Not ‘less you want ‘em.” Carson blinked, wondering if he heard right and then rolled his eyes. “Ah. I shoot up you with happy juice, we all feel happy.”
“Gotitinone.”
Straightening, Carson cricked his neck and sighed, “In that case, lad. Cover up and lets head back to Atlantis.”
“Excuse me, where?”
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
Teaser Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epilogue
Background blurb