Wing and a Prayer part 4
Wing and a Prayer part 1 is here.
Wing and a Prayer part 2 is here.
Wing and a Prayer part 3 is here.
Wing and a Prayer
Part four
Later that evening, John lay awake, staring up at the sliver of moon visible through the bars of the narrow window above them. Rodney was draped partly over him, like a warm comforter, one hand burrowed just inside the waist of John’s BDUs, the other folded up near John’s ear. Rodney had his face tucked into John’s neck and was sprawled against his side, one leg curled between John’s own. He radiated heat like a nuclear reactor and every part of John that wasn’t in actual contact with Rodney seemed twice as cold in contrast.
They had decided to try the escape in three days. Rodney figured it would take him at least that long to set all his booby traps, once he was given widespread access to the locations and equipment he needed. John had known from the beginning they’d only get one shot at this, and when he and Rodney had discussed the timing and launch window of their escape, they had gotten into an argument. There was a furious exchange of whispers when John announced the timetable and told Rodney that once he initiated his cascading series of laboratory explosions, if John had not shown up at the glider hanger by the time the last explosion occurred, Rodney was to leave without him.
“Not happening.” Rodney had tightened his lips until they disappeared in a thin line. “I know you, this is you making an advance bid for the suicidal heroics you think you’ll need to implement in order to get me to the Gate. Well, we go together or not at all.”
“Listen to me, McKay.” John had let his voice go cold, standing squarely behind the personal shield of his Colonel persona with Rodney for the first time since their capture. “There will be no second attempt for us. We’ll have caused too much destruction. Anyone who remains behind will be punished as an example to everyone else.”
“Exactly,” Rodney had hissed in an attempt to keep his voice below the audio sensor range. “All the more reason we need to get out together. Besides, you’re the pilot. You think I can fly that glider? A puddlejumper is one thing, but this is both cruder and more sophisticated at the same time. It’s a prototype, John.”
“Rodney.” John had taken a deep breath and then leaned into him, his mouth centimeters from Rodney’s ear. “If I don’t show up on time, it’s because I can’t.” He had pulled back then, to cast a significant glance in Rodney’s direction. His ability to get free from the cell was the weakest part of the whole plan, contingent on everything going just right.
The silence had weighed heavily between them for several long moments until Rodney moved forward and said quietly, “The same applies for me then. If I don’t make it by the final explosion, then something has happened to me, I couldn’t shake my guards, whatever. You’ll need to take the glider and head for the Gate, because I’ll be depending on you to come back with the whole fucking cavalry. Are we clear?” He had flashed a piercing glance upwards at John’s face.
John had hesitated. If he went without Rodney, Torquin would surely kill him before John could mount a rescue operation. He had then glanced over at Rodney’s face, inches from his own, blue eyes snapping with anger as Rodney glared back at him. “You don’t make it to the glider, I’ll go for help,” John had lied.
Rodney had seemed to accept his word at face value. He then began to review their plan in a controlled whisper. “Okay, the first explosion will go off approximately 15 minutes after the morning klaxon, taking down the internal sensors, communications and the main computers. You should be able to hear it from your cell. That will be your cue. Are you sure Ramos will come at that time?”
“He’s become pretty regular lately,” John had admitted.
Rodney had made a low growling noise that was seriously gratifying to hear and yet amusing, as though a kitten was trying to face down a big dog. “So, the first explosion will be your cue to strike back at Ramos and Co. I could have done this all more efficiently through the computer system alone, but we need the noise and confusion of actual fireworks to help us escape.”
“Besides, I like the big bang.” John had smirked.
“Yes, John, I did it just because you like the ‘big bang’.” Rodney had rolled his eyes and continued on. “The next explosion will be 7 minutes after the first, and should take out the electronics controlling the city’s water supply, causing the sluices to open on the dam, flooding the lower part of the city, so you really had better not be in the cell at that time.” Rodney had poked him several times in the shoulder with a finger for emphasis.
John had a passing regret for not being able to witness that particular diversionary tactic take effect. It had been one of their better ideas, as the ‘natural’ disaster would cause widespread panic and force the military to deal with the crisis instead of search for missing prisoners. He had nodded for Rodney to continue reviewing the plan.
“Explosions three and four will take place almost simultaneously, but in different sections of the city,” Rodney had said almost dreamily, enamored with the beauty of the plan. “Won’t do much damage, but no one will know that at the time-almost purely diversionary and will make them think there are more of us at work in the city than there are.”
His eyes had grown clear again as he narrowed his focus on John’s face. “The fifth and final one should scramble the communications to the outpost where they keep their own small aircraft. Pity we couldn’t just take one of theirs, but they keep their ships down on the plateau below, not having any room to land them up here on the mountain. Anyway, at that point, both of us should be at the glider hanger. Once we get the door open, we should be able to launch right from there-it looks out over the side of the city walls.” Rodney had paused, looking a little anxious. “Of course, that means you’ll have a pretty short period of time to figure out the controls before we hit the ground.”
“You worry about your end, I’ll worry about mine,” John had said with a confidence he didn’t really feel. It would be a miracle if both of them made it that far. He’d worry about flying the glider when he actually saw it.
“We need a backup plan, in case Ramos doesn’t show. You’ll have no way to signal me to hold on implementing the launch, should you be locked in your cell. Not to mention the whole drowning like a trapped rat thing.” Rodney had looked very unhappy at that.
John had then leaned forward past Rodney’s shoulder and silently pointed to the ‘kaboom’ he’d chalked in near his cell door. Rodney had turned with him to look at the drawing, sliding an arm around John’s waist as he did so and John couldn’t help but wonder at Rodney’s level of comfort with the causal contact. That would change when they got back to Atlantis, he had realized sharply.
Rodney had stared at the drawing, nodding. “We need some C-4. Not much. Just enough to blow the lock.” He had slumped a little against John in defeat, his posture suggesting he might as well wish for a squad of marines with P-90’s and a puddlejumper.
John had reached up behind his ear and pulled out a narrow length of gray, clay-like material, rolling it into a ball with a cheerful grin as he showed it to Rodney. “You mean like this?”
Rodney’s eyes had grown round with surprise. He had twisted to grip both of John’s arms with his own, giving him a little shake before pulling him close and whispering, “Ohmygod. Detonator too?”
John had nodded, knowing he was grinning like a fiend, tucking the C-4 away for safe keeping. “Torquin never should have let me handle our own equipment today.”
“Ohmygod,” Rodney had repeated, “I love you so much.” He had given John a great, smacking kiss and then pulled back to stare at him worriedly. “But what if you’d been caught? Surely he was expecting something like this from you.”
John had leaned back, still non-plussed from Rodney’s previous statement. He had reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a packet of antibiotic ointment. “Which was why I let him see me take this,” he had said, trying to control the slight tremor in his voice.
“Thank god, I chose food instead of this. You know, for a flyboy, sometimes you’re a fucking genius.” Rodney had snagged the packet, tearing open the foil with his teeth as he pushed John backwards and unzipped the jacket. He had begun to squeeze the ointment out onto his fingers with studied concentration.
John had started to laugh. Rodney’s expression had become alarmed and he dropped the packet, clapping a hand over John’s mouth, even as he sprawled across him so as to get close enough to whisper. “What? What’s so funny?” His face was still concerned but John had seen in a flash that Rodney wanted in on the joke as well.
“You,” he had sniggered, “with the smart-ass line and the tearing the packet open with your teeth, and then lubing up your fingers…”
“Ohmygod, you are twelve.” Rodney had huffed as he sat up and smoothed the antibiotic ointment on the worst of John’s lash marks. When he was done, John had sat up as well and reached for him, pulling Rodney into a kiss and feeling Rodney’s lips curve into a smile against his own. “Careful. I just put this crap on you, it has to stay there at least a little while to do any good at all before you rub it off.”
John had then looked at the drawings on the floor, representing their lives at stake, their freedom. He had suddenly wiped the plans away with the side of his fist and said aloud, “This is boring. Let’s play tic tac toe.”
“Best 12 out of 15,” Rodney had agreed, drawing the grid for the game.
John slowly moved his hand now from where it rested on Rodney’s back until his fingers brushed the short hair just starting to curl at the nape of Rodney’s neck. Rodney made a little snuffling noise and wriggled closer into John’s side, pulling a smile up from deep within John. It slowly faded as he thought of the days to come. They had to try this; he knew that. Sooner or later, their usefulness would come to an end and Torquin would dispose of them. Rodney had not been able to find any evidence of any other prisoners within the complex, although there were notes left behind on projects started by other people. The tin-pot ruler of this little society would be coming in another week along with the new moon; John was sure that it was only a matter of time before Torquin started grilling him for Gate addresses again. This was their best chance, their only chance.
But something inside John was loath to make the move. They had so much to lose here. Failure would undoubtedly result in their deaths, probably in prolonged agony. Rodney would actually probably get the worst of it, as Torquin slowly extracted all the information he could get from Rodney before he died. The small, selfish part of him that was afraid of what could happen to them suggested that things were not so bad right now, they had some sort of life here, perhaps it would be better not to rock the boat. He knew that was just fear talking, and that he could firmly ignore it. He would be fine once the waiting was over and he could finally take action.
It was harder to reason with the other part of himself, the part that argued that this thing he had with Rodney had to come to an end, for both their sakes. All his good intentions regarding distancing himself from Rodney had vanished when Rodney had placed his lips on John’s skin. Two more nights. It was only two more nights.
John released his breath in a heavy sigh, the cool temperature of the air around them making the vapor of his breath clearly visible in the thin, cold light of the moon above. His fingers moved gently in Rodney’s hair. Moments like this would not exist for them back on Atlantis. Could not exist. They would go back to being soldier and scientist. To being friends. Friends that had survived something terrible, that bound them together closely, but friends just the same. The Colonel and Dr. McKay.
John never in a million years thought he’d be reluctant to go home.
****
The day before the planned escape, Ramos showed up at John’s cell shortly after the morning shift change, with three men in tow, two of whom John had never seen before. This doesn’t look good. He reminded himself that they only had one more day to get through before he and Rodney made their move. He remained where he was, sitting on the pallet with his back to the wall. The only concession he’d made to their arrival was to draw his feet up closer to his body, the better to get up quickly if necessary. Don’t blow it now, Sheppard. He was thankful that earlier he had pushed the detonator into a crack in the wall, covering it with the C-4 and smoothing it flat, so that the gray material was virtually indistinguishable from the stone in the dim lighting.
“Well, well, well,” said Ramos on entering the cell. “If it isn’t Pretty Boy, sitting here all alone. What do you think, boys? I think he could use some company.”
John carefully gauged the expressions of the men around him and held his tongue. Sometimes even a wise-ass knew when to shut up.
“He don’t seem to be in a talkative mood, Ramos,” one of the new guys sneered. The two initiates to Ramos’ Sheppard bashing party took up supporting positions beside him. The third guard stood an uneasy watch by the door. There was a tension in the room that felt totally different from all of the previous visits by Ramos, but John could not tell if it was just paranoia on his part. They were so close to making a break from here.
“Not like his pal, Rodney,” Ramos agreed, and the way he spoke Rodney’s name created a very visceral reaction in John’s gut. “Now there’s a man with a mouth on him. But then, I bet you know all about that, don’t you, Pretty Boy?”
John watched him without moving, willing himself to show no reaction.
“Of course, we could always just go get Rodney. I’m sure he’d be much more friendly-like.” Ramos exchanged a smirk with his buddies.
“What do you want, Ramos?” John said in a bored tone.
“Well, now that’s more like it,” Ramos grinned, showing a gold tooth in the front. His sidekicks chuckled nastily. “We want what McKay’s been getting. Or we’ll go to him to get what we want. You think we don’t know? That we can’t hear you two rutting like animals in the dark?”
The guard on his left cupped his groin and thrust his hips suggestively at John, giving exaggerated little grunts as he did so. Shit.
“You heard…you mean to tell me there’s a microphone in here?” John said loudly, letting his voice rise sharply in pitch. The guard by the door looked up in alarm and then forcibly jerked his attention back to the corridor.
“Shut up!” Ramos snarled. The men moved forward in a rush and John scrabbled to his feet, but a blow from Ramos knocked him to his knees again. Ramos fisted his hair and pulled his head back sharply. John could feel the tendons in his neck stretch with the movement, even as one of the other men punched him in the gut. Ramos released him, letting him fold over his arm, holding his stomach. He was momentarily stunned when someone grabbed the back of his neck and bashed his head against the wall. Hands grabbed at him, pulling at the jacket, at his BDU’s. His pants were jerked down roughly over his hips as the jacket was pulled off and tossed aside. This is gonna really suck, he thought.
“Ancestors preserve us,” one of the guards sucked in a breath at the sight of John’s old wounds.
“Get him up-spread him against the wall. Don’t waste your sympathy on this cock-sucker,” Ramos laughed. “He had it coming. He deserved it. He deserves this.” Ramos had unbuttoned his pants and taken his dick out as he spoke, taking it in hand and waving it for emphasis.
No, I don’t. The words echoed with sudden clarity in John’s head, like a church bell tolling on a Sunday morning in the spring. No. I don’t. No.
He erupted from the floor, striking and punching for all he was worth, hampered slightly by the pants around his hips until he hitched them up. He fought with a fury that wasn’t just aimed at protecting himself. He fought for Rodney, for Teyla and Ronon, for every other person victimized by this system. But in the end, it was four against one, and he lay on the floor of the cell as fists pounded into his flesh. Then there was shouting, and the beating suddenly stopped. His last coherent thought was for Rodney. I’m so sorry, buddy.
****
When he awoke, he was curled in a ball on the pallet, shivering under a soft woven blanket. It was the sound of Rodney bustling into the cell that woke him, Rodney already in already in mid-sentence as he came through the door. “They sent me back early today, and I was given a packet of Tylenol as well, what the hell do you think is going…” Rodney’s voice broke off with a gasp and John turned his face to squint up at him through the one eye that was not swollen shut.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, John.” Rodney’s voice sounded anguished as he hurried over to kneel beside John on the floor. Rodney’s warm hand was in his hair, turning his head gently and hesitating when his fingers contacted a section matted with blood. “What the fuck happened to you?” he said brokenly.
“Rodney,” John croaked through cracked lips, despite the fact he knew that it would only start them bleeding again. He raised his voice slightly. “Did you know this place is wired for sound?”
Rodney cradled his face in both of his hands, looking down with John with an expression of such pain that John thought for an instant that he might cry, until his face hardened into an expression of flinty steel. A fraction of a second later, the fear that their plans had been discovered was clearly etched on his features. John placed a hand on Rodney’s arm, closing his eyes and turning his face into Rodney’s hand.
“A microphone.” Rodney gritted, in his ‘playing for the audience voice’, as though it were the first time he’d heard that information. His voice softened in tone but only lowered slightly in volume as he spoke again. “They heard us then. I’m not exactly the most silent person during…well, you know. Oh god, I am so sorry, John. I never meant for this to happen.”
John gripped his shirt by the collar and pulled him down to John’s mouth so he could whisper in Rodney’s ear. “They heard us, but not the plan. Is everything in place? Did you have enough time today?”
Rodney pulled back to goggle at him. “You can’t be serious! You still want to go through with this tomorrow?” he hissed quietly.
“We’re both running out of time.” John said softly, closing his good eye. He smiled, despite the fact that it hurt like a sonofabitch. “Operation: Wing and a Prayer is a go.”
****
The temptation to lie under the blanket and give into the dull throbbing pain after Rodney was escorted to the labs in the morning was strong, very strong. The slight relief that the single dose of Tylenol had given was long since gone. Despite Rodney’s attentions the previous evening, every muscle in John’s body protested against his continued existence after lying all night on the thin mattress covering the stone floor. John gritted his teeth and carefully rolled over so he could push himself up, muscles spasming and causing him to catch his breath as he did so. Pausing for a breather when needed, he slowly got to his feet. He needed to loosen up his muscles, to be ready to act when the time was right.
Rodney had been loath to leave and John had been forced to practically order him out. All perfectly in character, so no harm done, right? John found himself worrying about the possibility that Ramos and Co would go after Rodney next, that they would prevent him from launching the plan. Neither he nor Rodney had any idea what had happened that caused the men to stop their assault of him the day before, or why John had ended up with a blanket and Rodney with the Tylenol. None of that really mattered now, he decided. Today was the day they went home.
So when the booted footsteps sounded in the corridor some ten or fifteen minutes before the expected morning klaxon, John cursed the Pegasus galaxy and its quirky sense of humor. No, no, no. He realized his internal monolog was starting to sound like Rodney, but there was no time to appreciate the humor of that before the guards were in his cell. The young kid and another new guard.
“You will please come with us,” the young kid motioned towards the open hallway with his drawn weapon. Shit. Fuck. Goddamn it. John left the cell with his armed escort. The tension in his body coiled tighter and tighter when he realized that he was being taken straight to the torture room. He actually stumbled a moment near the door, and the young kid put out a steadying grip on his arm, releasing him as soon as he regained his balance. There was a pause just outside the door, when the kid hesitated before lifting his fist to knock sharply, three times. A blank-faced guard opened the door and let them in.
Inside, a man hung suspended from the hook in the ceiling. For a split second, John’s mind suggested it was Rodney, but then rationality took over and he realized that the person hanging there was the wrong shape, the tattered clothing all wrong as well. With a jolt of shock, he realized it was Ramos. The guard hung motionless from the hook, chin to his chest, blood dripping from numerous lash marks and smearing on the floor around his feet as evidence of his struggles.
John glanced over at Torquin to see the man watching him, a cold fury radiating off his face. He smacked the recording device on his chest sharply and then coiled the whip back up in his hand, using it to point at Ramos. “Do you know what annoys me the most about this, Colonel Sheppard?”
John thought carefully before answering. “His blind stupidity?”
“Yes!” Torquin snapped. “Yes! By all means, have your fun with the prisoners,” he used the whip in his hand to lift Ramos’ chin. “Did you think I didn’t know about that?” He let the man’s head fall back in place. “But do not seriously damage the prisoners before I am through with them. And do not,” and here Torquin’s voice suddenly thundered in the small room, “tell them their conversations are being monitored!”
The young kid winced. The other guard that had come in with John had positioned himself near the guard that had let them in. Neither moved, not even to exchange a glance, for fear of calling attention to themselves.
John had little sympathy for the former-guard-turned-prisoner. Ramos was a sick bastard and would have led his pals in a gang-rape of John had they not been interrupted yesterday. He himself had thought often of the ways in which he’d kill Ramos if given the opportunity. But he would not wish this on anyone. He said nothing, reluctant to egg Torquin on any further. In the heavy silence, the morning klaxon sounded.
“Here,” Torquin said suddenly, holding the whip out to John.
John involuntarily leaned away from the movement of the whip towards him. “Excuse me?”
“Here.” Torquin’s voice got silky with menace. “Take the whip. Punish him. It is your right.”
“I think you’ve got that pretty well covered, thanks just the same.”
Torquin turned his head to face John, his arm still outstretched. “Take it. Take the whip and use it on him.”
“No.” John took a deep breath and lifted his chin.
“You will do as I say,” Torquin spoke in that ultra-calm tone of his but the underlying threat was present as well, like a sheathed knife. The outstretched arm began to tremble with the strain or something else altogether. John suspected the man was coming totally unglued.
“No,” John replied, keeping his voice calm as well. “That would make me you.”
Someone in the room sucked their breath in sharply. In the distance, an explosion sounded. Way ahead of schedule. Torquin motioned to the two guards near the door. “Go check that out and report back to me.” He returned his focus to John. “You will take this whip and use it or the next man to hang from this hook will be your precious Dr. McKay.”
You just need to stall for a little more time. John wondered why the first explosion had gone off early and if the others would follow the planned sequence. What he didn’t need was for guards to go and drag Rodney out of position right now; to confine him for ‘interrogation’ just as they were making their prison break. He took the whip with a great show of reluctance, avoiding Torquin’s eyes as he did so.
“There you go,” Torquin purred suddenly. “Now see, that wasn’t so hard.” He placed a guiding hand on the small of John’s back to position him in front of Ramos, his cold fingers brushing bare skin where his hand slipped under Rodney’s jacket.
John stiffened and began to breathe harder. Jesus. This guy was a real psycho-puppy. John twisted the coils of the whip in his hands, finally letting the length of the leather fall to the floor as he retained his grip on the handle with his right hand.
“Have you ever used a whip before?” Torquin’s voice was suddenly in his ear, moist breath hot against his neck and it was creeping John out.
“I think I understand the general mechanics of it,” John spoke at last, his voice sounding rusty, even to himself. He glanced back over his shoulder, disturbed by Torquin’s proximity. He repressed a shudder when Torquin’s hand slid down his sleeve, closing over the whip handle in his hand, flexing John’s hand to loosen the wrist, much like a golf pro giving lessons to a student. “It’s all in the wrist,” Torquin murmured.
“Better give me a little room, then,” John said dryly, and Torquin laughed like an infatuated lover. He stepped back slightly.
John looked down at the whip in his hand and then up at Ramos, the man lifting his head slightly to look him in the eye before letting his head fall back down again with a small moan.
“Do it,” Torquin warned, no longer sounding lover-like.
John took in a sharp breath and grimaced, raising his arm with a snap that made the tip of the whip crack in the air before drawing his arm down in a slashing strike across Ramos’ chest. The whip bit deeply, causing Ramos to cry out and arch backwards.
“Yes!” Torquin cried, sounding orgasmic. John spun around on the upswing and backhanded Torquin across the face with the whip, striking again and again furiously as the commander screamed and tried to protect his face. John dove on him and drove him to the ground, pulling out Torquin’s holstered weapon. Torquin scrabbled with one hand to prevent John from taking the gun and then pulled a knife out of his tall boot, shoving it in John’s side as he himself was pulling the trigger. Torquin’s body jerked once from beneath John’s straddling position, blood and tissue spattering up along John’s face and shoulder. He rolled off Torquin, pulling the blade out from his side and letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. He drew a bead on the young kid, clutching his side with his other hand, blood seeping through his fingers.
To his surprise, the kid was not making any attempt to subdue him, but instead was cutting Ramos down from the hook. John got to his feet and stood with his weapon aimed at the two men, as the young soldier was lowering Ramos’ inert form to the floor.
John leaned down with a grimace and deactivated the recording device on Torquin’s body, never taking his eyes off the guard all the while.
“Let me guess,” John drawled as he stood up again. He coughed suddenly, wincing in pain. “Blankets? Tylenol?”
The kid briefly ducked his head and looked embarrassed. “It was all I could do. You should go. The others will be back soon.”
“So let me get this straight-this setting is stun, and this setting is kill, correct?” The hole in Torquin’s chest would have made Ronon’s heart sing with pride.
The kid’s face froze. He nodded solemnly, gripping Ramos by the shoulders, obviously expecting death at John’s hands. John stunned them both and left the room.
****
Rodney whipped around at the sound of his approach and then let out a huge, gusty sigh of relief when he recognized John. “Oh, thank god. Everything’s going pear-shaped on us. The sequence of explosions is all shot to hell, one of the guards got suspicious and I had to launch early. I barely got away myself. I wasn’t sure you’d make it in time. Ohmygod, what’s wrong with you?” Rodney stopped in the middle of opening the heavy hanger door when John paused to lean up against it instead of helping to push.
“Nothing. I’ll be fine.” There was nothing Rodney could do about it anyway.
“Fine hell, I recognize that gritted-teeth expression of yours, Colonel ‘Come back here you coward’.” John gave a half-laugh at the Monty Python reference and grimaced when Rodney pulled his bloodied hand away from his side.
Blue eyes wide with shock greeted him when he looked up into Rodney’s face. “Oh. That’s…that’s just…right.” Rodney gulped, swallowing hard. “Okay…that’s not so bad. Wait here.”
John closed his eyes and let the hanger door hold him up. A few seconds, minutes, hours later he felt Rodney push aside the jacket and press something to his side that made him hiss in pain. “Hold this,” Rodney said, pressing his slick fingers over a folded cloth to his side. There was the sound of tape being pulled off a roll and John opened his eyes to Rodney’s evil grin. “You think this hurts now,” Rodney smirked, reaching around John to wrap the tape around him several times, securing the cloth firmly to his body. “Wait ‘til Carson tries to pull this off your hairy self.” John touched the industrial strength tape with his fingers, deciding he’d kill Rodney later. He felt Rodney grip his arm and he looked up into Rodney’s intensely worried expression. He forced a grin in response.
Somehow they got the hanger door open and into the glider. John’s brain went on autopilot, checking the functions of the two-man ship automatically. An HUD obligingly popped up, giving him the read-outs he needed.
“No DHD,” Rodney said from behind him, reading his mind. “We’ll have to land and then dial the Gate before we go through. And we can’t go to Atlantis without the GDO, so I vote for the alpha-site.”
“Right,” John agreed. It was a good thing they were sitting down for this part. He hit the launch sequence and the millennia-old craft propelled itself forward as though it had been waiting all this time for his command, slamming them backwards in their seats with the acceleration.
“I see they hadn’t perfected the inertial dampeners on this model,” Rodney’s voice was disapproving from the rear.
John ignored him, concentrating on not plummeting to the ground. It was close, very close. The glider dropped like a rock when its forward momentum died and they plunged for the ground, just missing the tops of the plants nodding their grain-heavy heads in the fields when the secondary systems kicked in and John was able to pull the ship up.
“Oh thank god,” Rodney moaned from the back. “Oh my, I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Find me the Gate, McKay,” John turned the glider in a sweeping move towards the open road that Rodney had seen from the city above. He felt a thin sheen of sweat break out over his body. He just had to hold it together for a little longer. Almost there.
“Got it,” Rodney said suddenly. “Coordinates coming to you. Looks like we’re about 50 km away. ETA two minutes.”
John had to increase altitude as they approached the forest at high speed in order to clear the tree line. A warning light began blinking on the control panel in front of him. Two minutes, he cursed, glancing at the read-out. You couldn’t give me two fucking minutes? Sweat began to roll down the side of his face and his grip on the controls turned his knuckles white.
“We’re not going to make it,” he said aloud, knowing Rodney had the same read-out in front of him. “We’ll pick a nice spot and land. No big deal.” He had to get out from over this forest; he had to find some open ground. He had to get Rodney closer to the Gate. Because there was no way he could make it on foot. Rodney was going to have to go home without him.
****
Notgoodnotgoodnotgood, the words ran through Rodney’s mind in a seemingly unending loop. He supposed it was inevitable that this would happen, as it so often did, that they would get so far in their escape plan and then have catastrophe strike.
Truth be told, Rodney was somewhat surprised that they had managed to get this far - when one of his more observant ‘keepers’ had gotten suspicious and demanded to know why he was accessing the base’s auxiliary energy supplies as opposed to the independent power generator Torquin had set up for him to use, Rodney had thought that the jig was up. He had briefly considered trying to bluff his way out of it, but had not wanted to risk being removed from the lab before he’d had time to initiate the first set of explosions; he’d been left with no alternative but to implement the escape plan ahead of schedule and trust that John had his C4 at the ready and would be able to make it to the launch bay in time. He had been so relieved when John had appeared. Despite his assurances to the contrary, Rodney was not certain he would have been able to bring himself to leave alone had John not appeared in time. No, somewhere along the line, abandoning John had simply become unthinkable. They were a team, a partnership - daring heroics and last minute miracles together, that was their thing. That said, as their glider continued its plummet to earth, Rodney was beginning to wonder whether perhaps they had at last run out of luck.
Rodney watched the data provided by the glider’s HUD as if mesmerized, his brain performing speed and impact calculations over and over again entirely beyond the control his conscious volition. He heard John start to curse from the pilot seat in front of him and looked up, tilting his head to the side to watch as John fought to maintain the glider’s altitude, John's hands gripping the controls tightly. The prototype glider shuddered and jolted in flight, the stomach-churning motion combining with the terror already rolling though Rodney and making him grip the sides of his seat, his body tense with fear even though he knew he needed to relax to minimize the trauma of a crash landing.
Two minutes and 50 kilometers from the gate - it was too long, too far, they weren’t going to make it. Judging from the readouts, they’d be lucky if they made it two-thirds of that distance. Rodney thought he heard John shout out something about landing and, glancing out the window, he could see that John had managed to locate a clearing in amongst the miles of forest spread out below them. Unable to look away, Rodney watched the ground rush up to meet them at a dizzying pace. He leaned forward automatically at the last minute and assumed the brace position, his arms coming up to protect his head as he readied himself for one of John Sheppard’s special landings.
The impact of their landing jarred through him with a tremendous blow, the force of it knocking him first backwards into his seat and then throwing him forwards into the back of John’s chair as the glider skidded and bounced along the uneven ground. He felt the breath leave his body and stars exploded before his eyes, his vision blacking out. He fought hard to maintain consciousness - he couldn’t afford to pass out, John was injured, John would need him and they both needed to get to the gate. He finally felt the glider judder to a halt and found himself lying in a painful heap on the floor, gasping uselessly for breath as his lungs strained to draw in air.
Finally the pressure in his chest eased sufficiently and Rodney inhaled deeply, drawing in a great lungful of air in relief. The rush of oxygen to his brain made him feel light-headed for a moment, and the world spun nauseatingly as Rodney lay on his back wedged between the glider’s bucket seats and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. It felt like he was lying at an angle and he heard an ominous groan of metal from the glider itself. Suddenly the entire ship tilted, smashing down to the ground hard and forcing a cry from Rodney’s mouth as he was thrown heavily to one side. He opened his eyes cautiously and raised his head, his body tensing in preparation for further movements of the crashed vessel, but fortunately none seemed forthcoming.
“John?” he called out, but there was no response from the front of the craft; a cold knot of fear coiled low in his belly. With a grunt, Rodney tried to lever himself up off the floor, the pounding in his head growing more painful as he moved. There were shards of glass from the windows and windshield scattered over him and bits of twisted metal from the glider’s body were sticking out all along the right-hand side of the ship, the material dented and buckled by the force of the crash. Worryingly, it looked like part of the cockpit had taken a hit and a section of it was dented down directly over where John would have been sitting.
“John?” Rodney called again, his eyes running frantically over the back of John's chair hoping to make out some indication of where John was and how badly he was injured. Again there was no reply and Rodney felt his worry magnify exponentially. He rolled over onto his side, hoping to be able to lever himself up from there, but as soon as he tried to brace his weight on his right arm a hot, sharp stab of pain caught him unawares. His arm crumpled uselessly beneath him as he fell forward onto his belly amongst the sharp shards of crash debris, the agony making tears well in his eyes. Whimpering, Rodney rolled over onto his back again, taking the pressure off his injured arm and cradling to his chest with his left. Cautiously he felt along the length of his forearm, wincing as he felt the bones move in one place, something they certainly should not do. Damn it, he thought, definitely broken then.
Rodney lay still for several moments, willing the worst of the pain to abate. He then slowly shifted various part of his body, starting with his feet and working his way up, checking carefully for any further injuries. Apart from his arm, the pounding of his head, and the familiar ache in his lower back, nothing more appeared to be amiss. Breathing a sigh of relief that his situation was not worse, he sat up slowly, grimacing, and tried to get to his feet. They were still a long way from being out of danger. Despite the various explosions he'd set and the bugs he'd planted in the base's computer network, Torquin and his soldiers were bound to find out about their escape sooner or later - and Rodney planned to be at least a wormhole away when that happened. But, more importantly than that, Rodney needed to check on John.
Unsteady on his feet, but standing, Rodney managed to activate the controls on the glider's side which opened the cockpit hatch. He let out a murmur of gratitude when the top section of the glider lifted up and then slid slowly open. The mechanism had obviously been damaged and the action was accompanied by the ear-shattering shriek of metal tearing against metal. Nevertheless, it worked and fresh air wafted into the glider's interior as the clear blue, cloudless sky emerged. Rodney left his eyes drift closed for a moment, the cool breeze on his brow coming as a welcome distraction from the agony of his body. He used it to gather his strength and then opened his eyes and looked into the front of the glider.
Rodney's heart stopped beating at the sight that greeted him. John lay slumped sideways in the pilot's seat, his head crushed up against the glider's left side and blood pooling around his unconscious body. A steady stream of red trickled from a vicious gash in his right temple and the entire right side of the Rodney's jacket, which John still wore, was dark with it. To make matters worse, his legs appeared to be trapped beneath the flight control console, which had been battered forward by their landing and currently pinned John's lower body to his chair. John's face was deathly pale and Rodney couldn't make out if he was still breathing.
In what felt like the longest moments of his life, Rodney lent forward and carefully placed the first two fingers of his left hand on the pulse point of John's neck. He tried to ignore the screams of his mind and instead concentrated on searching for John's heartbeat, as if he could will it into being by the pure strength of his desire, no, need for it to be there. For there to be no pulse, for John to truly be- his mind shied away from completing the sentiment, he couldn't even think it. A series of images flashed through his mind; John's courage in the face of Torquin's sadistic torture, the light in John's eyes when Rodney told him about the prototype glider, the determination in his expression as they sketched out their desperate escape plan, the tenderness he'd shown as they lay curled together on the thin pallet of their cell.
There it was, faint and uneven, but there was definitely still blood pumping through John's arteries. Rodney couldn't help giving into his temptation to touch John, leaning forward still further, ignoring the spasming of his back, and letting his forehead rest lightly on John's chest for a second.
Drawing back he moved his hand from John's neck to touch John's cheek, grimacing as he examined the deep cut in John's temple. As his fingertips made contact with John's bristled jaw, John's eyelids flickered and his head twitched.
“Careful,” Rodney said at once, stilling John's movements by cupping his face.
John's eyes flickered open and Rodney was relieved to see his pupils react to the light and then focus sharply on Rodney's face. “Hey,” John said as Rodney let his hand fall away. “What happened?” he asked groggily.
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Some pilot you are,” he replied. “We crashed. You know, our plane fell out of the sky? Lost forward momentum and plummeted to the ground? Our upward force weakened and we fell foul of the laws of gravity? Does any of this sound familiar to you?”
John grinned weakly. “Ah, we crashed,” he said. “Thought I recognized the sensation.”
“That, Colonel,” Rodney said sharply. “Does not inspire confidence.”
“Hey,” John protested as he looked around, taking in Rodney's condition, their surroundings, the open jumper roof hatch and his own fairly dire state. “We got out of Compound of Doom, didn't we?”
“Hmm,” Rodney huffed.
“Exactly, so it ain't all bad.”
Rodney raised his eyebrows skeptically at that. “You've obviously suffered serious brain damage if you think that,” he snapped.
“Yeah, well, crash victim here, remember?”
“Oh yes, because that had slipped my mind,” Rodney replied sarcastically. “Man with a concussion, broken arm and wrenched back here, you know.”
“Only us, huh?” John said weakly, his lips curling up into a small smile.
“Yeah,” Rodney replied. “Us.”
John's eyes widened for a moment, but then he let out a little huff of laughter. “Okay, then,” he said. “Let's finish this thing, then, with our usual style and grace.”
“By the skin of our teeth, you mean?” Rodney asked dryly.
“Wing and a prayer, buddy,” John replied. “Wing and a prayer.”
Rodney felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “Well,” he said, gesturing around them. “It would appear that our wing has been rather thoroughly broken and praying has never really been my thing, so...” he trailed off.
“So,” John continued. “You head to the gate and find us some new wings and I'll do my best to holding up the prayer end here.” He hefted up one of the energy weapons that Torquin and his men had carried. “See,” he said to Rodney with a grin. “I'm even doing slightly better than the angels on the weapons front.”
“I'm not leaving you,” Rodney said at once, ignoring John's ramblings and only just remembering not to cross his arms with his denial.
“You don't have a choice, buddy,” John replied calmly, gesturing towards his trapped legs with the barrel of his weapon. “I'm stuck here and, even if I weren't, I'm pretty sure I'm not up for walking.” His eyes then flickered over Rodney's broken arm. “And you're sure as hell not up for carrying me.”
He was right, Rodney realized in despair. There was really only one way out of this - for him to make it to the gate and back to Atlantis so that a rescue team could be sent to retrieve John.
Okay - he could do this, Rodney told himself. What was it Teyla had said? That Pegasus and Atlantis were his home too now, one for which he fought every single day. Not just Pegasus and Atlantis, Rodney realized with a start. As he looked down at John, he had to acknowledge that his home was here too. That John was the reason he fought so hard, succeeded so brilliantly and fell so hard. Not the only reason, to be sure, but perhaps one of the largest.
“Okay,” he said, feeling a sense of determination flood through him. “I'll go. But don't you go and do anything stupid like die or anything before I get back.”
John snorted. “I'll do my best, buddy,” he promised. “Now let's get your arm wrapped up and get you on your way.”
****
Read Wing and a Prayer part 5
Wing and a Prayer part 2 is here.
Wing and a Prayer part 3 is here.
Wing and a Prayer
Part four
Later that evening, John lay awake, staring up at the sliver of moon visible through the bars of the narrow window above them. Rodney was draped partly over him, like a warm comforter, one hand burrowed just inside the waist of John’s BDUs, the other folded up near John’s ear. Rodney had his face tucked into John’s neck and was sprawled against his side, one leg curled between John’s own. He radiated heat like a nuclear reactor and every part of John that wasn’t in actual contact with Rodney seemed twice as cold in contrast.
They had decided to try the escape in three days. Rodney figured it would take him at least that long to set all his booby traps, once he was given widespread access to the locations and equipment he needed. John had known from the beginning they’d only get one shot at this, and when he and Rodney had discussed the timing and launch window of their escape, they had gotten into an argument. There was a furious exchange of whispers when John announced the timetable and told Rodney that once he initiated his cascading series of laboratory explosions, if John had not shown up at the glider hanger by the time the last explosion occurred, Rodney was to leave without him.
“Not happening.” Rodney had tightened his lips until they disappeared in a thin line. “I know you, this is you making an advance bid for the suicidal heroics you think you’ll need to implement in order to get me to the Gate. Well, we go together or not at all.”
“Listen to me, McKay.” John had let his voice go cold, standing squarely behind the personal shield of his Colonel persona with Rodney for the first time since their capture. “There will be no second attempt for us. We’ll have caused too much destruction. Anyone who remains behind will be punished as an example to everyone else.”
“Exactly,” Rodney had hissed in an attempt to keep his voice below the audio sensor range. “All the more reason we need to get out together. Besides, you’re the pilot. You think I can fly that glider? A puddlejumper is one thing, but this is both cruder and more sophisticated at the same time. It’s a prototype, John.”
“Rodney.” John had taken a deep breath and then leaned into him, his mouth centimeters from Rodney’s ear. “If I don’t show up on time, it’s because I can’t.” He had pulled back then, to cast a significant glance in Rodney’s direction. His ability to get free from the cell was the weakest part of the whole plan, contingent on everything going just right.
The silence had weighed heavily between them for several long moments until Rodney moved forward and said quietly, “The same applies for me then. If I don’t make it by the final explosion, then something has happened to me, I couldn’t shake my guards, whatever. You’ll need to take the glider and head for the Gate, because I’ll be depending on you to come back with the whole fucking cavalry. Are we clear?” He had flashed a piercing glance upwards at John’s face.
John had hesitated. If he went without Rodney, Torquin would surely kill him before John could mount a rescue operation. He had then glanced over at Rodney’s face, inches from his own, blue eyes snapping with anger as Rodney glared back at him. “You don’t make it to the glider, I’ll go for help,” John had lied.
Rodney had seemed to accept his word at face value. He then began to review their plan in a controlled whisper. “Okay, the first explosion will go off approximately 15 minutes after the morning klaxon, taking down the internal sensors, communications and the main computers. You should be able to hear it from your cell. That will be your cue. Are you sure Ramos will come at that time?”
“He’s become pretty regular lately,” John had admitted.
Rodney had made a low growling noise that was seriously gratifying to hear and yet amusing, as though a kitten was trying to face down a big dog. “So, the first explosion will be your cue to strike back at Ramos and Co. I could have done this all more efficiently through the computer system alone, but we need the noise and confusion of actual fireworks to help us escape.”
“Besides, I like the big bang.” John had smirked.
“Yes, John, I did it just because you like the ‘big bang’.” Rodney had rolled his eyes and continued on. “The next explosion will be 7 minutes after the first, and should take out the electronics controlling the city’s water supply, causing the sluices to open on the dam, flooding the lower part of the city, so you really had better not be in the cell at that time.” Rodney had poked him several times in the shoulder with a finger for emphasis.
John had a passing regret for not being able to witness that particular diversionary tactic take effect. It had been one of their better ideas, as the ‘natural’ disaster would cause widespread panic and force the military to deal with the crisis instead of search for missing prisoners. He had nodded for Rodney to continue reviewing the plan.
“Explosions three and four will take place almost simultaneously, but in different sections of the city,” Rodney had said almost dreamily, enamored with the beauty of the plan. “Won’t do much damage, but no one will know that at the time-almost purely diversionary and will make them think there are more of us at work in the city than there are.”
His eyes had grown clear again as he narrowed his focus on John’s face. “The fifth and final one should scramble the communications to the outpost where they keep their own small aircraft. Pity we couldn’t just take one of theirs, but they keep their ships down on the plateau below, not having any room to land them up here on the mountain. Anyway, at that point, both of us should be at the glider hanger. Once we get the door open, we should be able to launch right from there-it looks out over the side of the city walls.” Rodney had paused, looking a little anxious. “Of course, that means you’ll have a pretty short period of time to figure out the controls before we hit the ground.”
“You worry about your end, I’ll worry about mine,” John had said with a confidence he didn’t really feel. It would be a miracle if both of them made it that far. He’d worry about flying the glider when he actually saw it.
“We need a backup plan, in case Ramos doesn’t show. You’ll have no way to signal me to hold on implementing the launch, should you be locked in your cell. Not to mention the whole drowning like a trapped rat thing.” Rodney had looked very unhappy at that.
John had then leaned forward past Rodney’s shoulder and silently pointed to the ‘kaboom’ he’d chalked in near his cell door. Rodney had turned with him to look at the drawing, sliding an arm around John’s waist as he did so and John couldn’t help but wonder at Rodney’s level of comfort with the causal contact. That would change when they got back to Atlantis, he had realized sharply.
Rodney had stared at the drawing, nodding. “We need some C-4. Not much. Just enough to blow the lock.” He had slumped a little against John in defeat, his posture suggesting he might as well wish for a squad of marines with P-90’s and a puddlejumper.
John had reached up behind his ear and pulled out a narrow length of gray, clay-like material, rolling it into a ball with a cheerful grin as he showed it to Rodney. “You mean like this?”
Rodney’s eyes had grown round with surprise. He had twisted to grip both of John’s arms with his own, giving him a little shake before pulling him close and whispering, “Ohmygod. Detonator too?”
John had nodded, knowing he was grinning like a fiend, tucking the C-4 away for safe keeping. “Torquin never should have let me handle our own equipment today.”
“Ohmygod,” Rodney had repeated, “I love you so much.” He had given John a great, smacking kiss and then pulled back to stare at him worriedly. “But what if you’d been caught? Surely he was expecting something like this from you.”
John had leaned back, still non-plussed from Rodney’s previous statement. He had reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a packet of antibiotic ointment. “Which was why I let him see me take this,” he had said, trying to control the slight tremor in his voice.
“Thank god, I chose food instead of this. You know, for a flyboy, sometimes you’re a fucking genius.” Rodney had snagged the packet, tearing open the foil with his teeth as he pushed John backwards and unzipped the jacket. He had begun to squeeze the ointment out onto his fingers with studied concentration.
John had started to laugh. Rodney’s expression had become alarmed and he dropped the packet, clapping a hand over John’s mouth, even as he sprawled across him so as to get close enough to whisper. “What? What’s so funny?” His face was still concerned but John had seen in a flash that Rodney wanted in on the joke as well.
“You,” he had sniggered, “with the smart-ass line and the tearing the packet open with your teeth, and then lubing up your fingers…”
“Ohmygod, you are twelve.” Rodney had huffed as he sat up and smoothed the antibiotic ointment on the worst of John’s lash marks. When he was done, John had sat up as well and reached for him, pulling Rodney into a kiss and feeling Rodney’s lips curve into a smile against his own. “Careful. I just put this crap on you, it has to stay there at least a little while to do any good at all before you rub it off.”
John had then looked at the drawings on the floor, representing their lives at stake, their freedom. He had suddenly wiped the plans away with the side of his fist and said aloud, “This is boring. Let’s play tic tac toe.”
“Best 12 out of 15,” Rodney had agreed, drawing the grid for the game.
John slowly moved his hand now from where it rested on Rodney’s back until his fingers brushed the short hair just starting to curl at the nape of Rodney’s neck. Rodney made a little snuffling noise and wriggled closer into John’s side, pulling a smile up from deep within John. It slowly faded as he thought of the days to come. They had to try this; he knew that. Sooner or later, their usefulness would come to an end and Torquin would dispose of them. Rodney had not been able to find any evidence of any other prisoners within the complex, although there were notes left behind on projects started by other people. The tin-pot ruler of this little society would be coming in another week along with the new moon; John was sure that it was only a matter of time before Torquin started grilling him for Gate addresses again. This was their best chance, their only chance.
But something inside John was loath to make the move. They had so much to lose here. Failure would undoubtedly result in their deaths, probably in prolonged agony. Rodney would actually probably get the worst of it, as Torquin slowly extracted all the information he could get from Rodney before he died. The small, selfish part of him that was afraid of what could happen to them suggested that things were not so bad right now, they had some sort of life here, perhaps it would be better not to rock the boat. He knew that was just fear talking, and that he could firmly ignore it. He would be fine once the waiting was over and he could finally take action.
It was harder to reason with the other part of himself, the part that argued that this thing he had with Rodney had to come to an end, for both their sakes. All his good intentions regarding distancing himself from Rodney had vanished when Rodney had placed his lips on John’s skin. Two more nights. It was only two more nights.
John released his breath in a heavy sigh, the cool temperature of the air around them making the vapor of his breath clearly visible in the thin, cold light of the moon above. His fingers moved gently in Rodney’s hair. Moments like this would not exist for them back on Atlantis. Could not exist. They would go back to being soldier and scientist. To being friends. Friends that had survived something terrible, that bound them together closely, but friends just the same. The Colonel and Dr. McKay.
John never in a million years thought he’d be reluctant to go home.
****
The day before the planned escape, Ramos showed up at John’s cell shortly after the morning shift change, with three men in tow, two of whom John had never seen before. This doesn’t look good. He reminded himself that they only had one more day to get through before he and Rodney made their move. He remained where he was, sitting on the pallet with his back to the wall. The only concession he’d made to their arrival was to draw his feet up closer to his body, the better to get up quickly if necessary. Don’t blow it now, Sheppard. He was thankful that earlier he had pushed the detonator into a crack in the wall, covering it with the C-4 and smoothing it flat, so that the gray material was virtually indistinguishable from the stone in the dim lighting.
“Well, well, well,” said Ramos on entering the cell. “If it isn’t Pretty Boy, sitting here all alone. What do you think, boys? I think he could use some company.”
John carefully gauged the expressions of the men around him and held his tongue. Sometimes even a wise-ass knew when to shut up.
“He don’t seem to be in a talkative mood, Ramos,” one of the new guys sneered. The two initiates to Ramos’ Sheppard bashing party took up supporting positions beside him. The third guard stood an uneasy watch by the door. There was a tension in the room that felt totally different from all of the previous visits by Ramos, but John could not tell if it was just paranoia on his part. They were so close to making a break from here.
“Not like his pal, Rodney,” Ramos agreed, and the way he spoke Rodney’s name created a very visceral reaction in John’s gut. “Now there’s a man with a mouth on him. But then, I bet you know all about that, don’t you, Pretty Boy?”
John watched him without moving, willing himself to show no reaction.
“Of course, we could always just go get Rodney. I’m sure he’d be much more friendly-like.” Ramos exchanged a smirk with his buddies.
“What do you want, Ramos?” John said in a bored tone.
“Well, now that’s more like it,” Ramos grinned, showing a gold tooth in the front. His sidekicks chuckled nastily. “We want what McKay’s been getting. Or we’ll go to him to get what we want. You think we don’t know? That we can’t hear you two rutting like animals in the dark?”
The guard on his left cupped his groin and thrust his hips suggestively at John, giving exaggerated little grunts as he did so. Shit.
“You heard…you mean to tell me there’s a microphone in here?” John said loudly, letting his voice rise sharply in pitch. The guard by the door looked up in alarm and then forcibly jerked his attention back to the corridor.
“Shut up!” Ramos snarled. The men moved forward in a rush and John scrabbled to his feet, but a blow from Ramos knocked him to his knees again. Ramos fisted his hair and pulled his head back sharply. John could feel the tendons in his neck stretch with the movement, even as one of the other men punched him in the gut. Ramos released him, letting him fold over his arm, holding his stomach. He was momentarily stunned when someone grabbed the back of his neck and bashed his head against the wall. Hands grabbed at him, pulling at the jacket, at his BDU’s. His pants were jerked down roughly over his hips as the jacket was pulled off and tossed aside. This is gonna really suck, he thought.
“Ancestors preserve us,” one of the guards sucked in a breath at the sight of John’s old wounds.
“Get him up-spread him against the wall. Don’t waste your sympathy on this cock-sucker,” Ramos laughed. “He had it coming. He deserved it. He deserves this.” Ramos had unbuttoned his pants and taken his dick out as he spoke, taking it in hand and waving it for emphasis.
No, I don’t. The words echoed with sudden clarity in John’s head, like a church bell tolling on a Sunday morning in the spring. No. I don’t. No.
He erupted from the floor, striking and punching for all he was worth, hampered slightly by the pants around his hips until he hitched them up. He fought with a fury that wasn’t just aimed at protecting himself. He fought for Rodney, for Teyla and Ronon, for every other person victimized by this system. But in the end, it was four against one, and he lay on the floor of the cell as fists pounded into his flesh. Then there was shouting, and the beating suddenly stopped. His last coherent thought was for Rodney. I’m so sorry, buddy.
****
When he awoke, he was curled in a ball on the pallet, shivering under a soft woven blanket. It was the sound of Rodney bustling into the cell that woke him, Rodney already in already in mid-sentence as he came through the door. “They sent me back early today, and I was given a packet of Tylenol as well, what the hell do you think is going…” Rodney’s voice broke off with a gasp and John turned his face to squint up at him through the one eye that was not swollen shut.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, John.” Rodney’s voice sounded anguished as he hurried over to kneel beside John on the floor. Rodney’s warm hand was in his hair, turning his head gently and hesitating when his fingers contacted a section matted with blood. “What the fuck happened to you?” he said brokenly.
“Rodney,” John croaked through cracked lips, despite the fact he knew that it would only start them bleeding again. He raised his voice slightly. “Did you know this place is wired for sound?”
Rodney cradled his face in both of his hands, looking down with John with an expression of such pain that John thought for an instant that he might cry, until his face hardened into an expression of flinty steel. A fraction of a second later, the fear that their plans had been discovered was clearly etched on his features. John placed a hand on Rodney’s arm, closing his eyes and turning his face into Rodney’s hand.
“A microphone.” Rodney gritted, in his ‘playing for the audience voice’, as though it were the first time he’d heard that information. His voice softened in tone but only lowered slightly in volume as he spoke again. “They heard us then. I’m not exactly the most silent person during…well, you know. Oh god, I am so sorry, John. I never meant for this to happen.”
John gripped his shirt by the collar and pulled him down to John’s mouth so he could whisper in Rodney’s ear. “They heard us, but not the plan. Is everything in place? Did you have enough time today?”
Rodney pulled back to goggle at him. “You can’t be serious! You still want to go through with this tomorrow?” he hissed quietly.
“We’re both running out of time.” John said softly, closing his good eye. He smiled, despite the fact that it hurt like a sonofabitch. “Operation: Wing and a Prayer is a go.”
****
The temptation to lie under the blanket and give into the dull throbbing pain after Rodney was escorted to the labs in the morning was strong, very strong. The slight relief that the single dose of Tylenol had given was long since gone. Despite Rodney’s attentions the previous evening, every muscle in John’s body protested against his continued existence after lying all night on the thin mattress covering the stone floor. John gritted his teeth and carefully rolled over so he could push himself up, muscles spasming and causing him to catch his breath as he did so. Pausing for a breather when needed, he slowly got to his feet. He needed to loosen up his muscles, to be ready to act when the time was right.
Rodney had been loath to leave and John had been forced to practically order him out. All perfectly in character, so no harm done, right? John found himself worrying about the possibility that Ramos and Co would go after Rodney next, that they would prevent him from launching the plan. Neither he nor Rodney had any idea what had happened that caused the men to stop their assault of him the day before, or why John had ended up with a blanket and Rodney with the Tylenol. None of that really mattered now, he decided. Today was the day they went home.
So when the booted footsteps sounded in the corridor some ten or fifteen minutes before the expected morning klaxon, John cursed the Pegasus galaxy and its quirky sense of humor. No, no, no. He realized his internal monolog was starting to sound like Rodney, but there was no time to appreciate the humor of that before the guards were in his cell. The young kid and another new guard.
“You will please come with us,” the young kid motioned towards the open hallway with his drawn weapon. Shit. Fuck. Goddamn it. John left the cell with his armed escort. The tension in his body coiled tighter and tighter when he realized that he was being taken straight to the torture room. He actually stumbled a moment near the door, and the young kid put out a steadying grip on his arm, releasing him as soon as he regained his balance. There was a pause just outside the door, when the kid hesitated before lifting his fist to knock sharply, three times. A blank-faced guard opened the door and let them in.
Inside, a man hung suspended from the hook in the ceiling. For a split second, John’s mind suggested it was Rodney, but then rationality took over and he realized that the person hanging there was the wrong shape, the tattered clothing all wrong as well. With a jolt of shock, he realized it was Ramos. The guard hung motionless from the hook, chin to his chest, blood dripping from numerous lash marks and smearing on the floor around his feet as evidence of his struggles.
John glanced over at Torquin to see the man watching him, a cold fury radiating off his face. He smacked the recording device on his chest sharply and then coiled the whip back up in his hand, using it to point at Ramos. “Do you know what annoys me the most about this, Colonel Sheppard?”
John thought carefully before answering. “His blind stupidity?”
“Yes!” Torquin snapped. “Yes! By all means, have your fun with the prisoners,” he used the whip in his hand to lift Ramos’ chin. “Did you think I didn’t know about that?” He let the man’s head fall back in place. “But do not seriously damage the prisoners before I am through with them. And do not,” and here Torquin’s voice suddenly thundered in the small room, “tell them their conversations are being monitored!”
The young kid winced. The other guard that had come in with John had positioned himself near the guard that had let them in. Neither moved, not even to exchange a glance, for fear of calling attention to themselves.
John had little sympathy for the former-guard-turned-prisoner. Ramos was a sick bastard and would have led his pals in a gang-rape of John had they not been interrupted yesterday. He himself had thought often of the ways in which he’d kill Ramos if given the opportunity. But he would not wish this on anyone. He said nothing, reluctant to egg Torquin on any further. In the heavy silence, the morning klaxon sounded.
“Here,” Torquin said suddenly, holding the whip out to John.
John involuntarily leaned away from the movement of the whip towards him. “Excuse me?”
“Here.” Torquin’s voice got silky with menace. “Take the whip. Punish him. It is your right.”
“I think you’ve got that pretty well covered, thanks just the same.”
Torquin turned his head to face John, his arm still outstretched. “Take it. Take the whip and use it on him.”
“No.” John took a deep breath and lifted his chin.
“You will do as I say,” Torquin spoke in that ultra-calm tone of his but the underlying threat was present as well, like a sheathed knife. The outstretched arm began to tremble with the strain or something else altogether. John suspected the man was coming totally unglued.
“No,” John replied, keeping his voice calm as well. “That would make me you.”
Someone in the room sucked their breath in sharply. In the distance, an explosion sounded. Way ahead of schedule. Torquin motioned to the two guards near the door. “Go check that out and report back to me.” He returned his focus to John. “You will take this whip and use it or the next man to hang from this hook will be your precious Dr. McKay.”
You just need to stall for a little more time. John wondered why the first explosion had gone off early and if the others would follow the planned sequence. What he didn’t need was for guards to go and drag Rodney out of position right now; to confine him for ‘interrogation’ just as they were making their prison break. He took the whip with a great show of reluctance, avoiding Torquin’s eyes as he did so.
“There you go,” Torquin purred suddenly. “Now see, that wasn’t so hard.” He placed a guiding hand on the small of John’s back to position him in front of Ramos, his cold fingers brushing bare skin where his hand slipped under Rodney’s jacket.
John stiffened and began to breathe harder. Jesus. This guy was a real psycho-puppy. John twisted the coils of the whip in his hands, finally letting the length of the leather fall to the floor as he retained his grip on the handle with his right hand.
“Have you ever used a whip before?” Torquin’s voice was suddenly in his ear, moist breath hot against his neck and it was creeping John out.
“I think I understand the general mechanics of it,” John spoke at last, his voice sounding rusty, even to himself. He glanced back over his shoulder, disturbed by Torquin’s proximity. He repressed a shudder when Torquin’s hand slid down his sleeve, closing over the whip handle in his hand, flexing John’s hand to loosen the wrist, much like a golf pro giving lessons to a student. “It’s all in the wrist,” Torquin murmured.
“Better give me a little room, then,” John said dryly, and Torquin laughed like an infatuated lover. He stepped back slightly.
John looked down at the whip in his hand and then up at Ramos, the man lifting his head slightly to look him in the eye before letting his head fall back down again with a small moan.
“Do it,” Torquin warned, no longer sounding lover-like.
John took in a sharp breath and grimaced, raising his arm with a snap that made the tip of the whip crack in the air before drawing his arm down in a slashing strike across Ramos’ chest. The whip bit deeply, causing Ramos to cry out and arch backwards.
“Yes!” Torquin cried, sounding orgasmic. John spun around on the upswing and backhanded Torquin across the face with the whip, striking again and again furiously as the commander screamed and tried to protect his face. John dove on him and drove him to the ground, pulling out Torquin’s holstered weapon. Torquin scrabbled with one hand to prevent John from taking the gun and then pulled a knife out of his tall boot, shoving it in John’s side as he himself was pulling the trigger. Torquin’s body jerked once from beneath John’s straddling position, blood and tissue spattering up along John’s face and shoulder. He rolled off Torquin, pulling the blade out from his side and letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. He drew a bead on the young kid, clutching his side with his other hand, blood seeping through his fingers.
To his surprise, the kid was not making any attempt to subdue him, but instead was cutting Ramos down from the hook. John got to his feet and stood with his weapon aimed at the two men, as the young soldier was lowering Ramos’ inert form to the floor.
John leaned down with a grimace and deactivated the recording device on Torquin’s body, never taking his eyes off the guard all the while.
“Let me guess,” John drawled as he stood up again. He coughed suddenly, wincing in pain. “Blankets? Tylenol?”
The kid briefly ducked his head and looked embarrassed. “It was all I could do. You should go. The others will be back soon.”
“So let me get this straight-this setting is stun, and this setting is kill, correct?” The hole in Torquin’s chest would have made Ronon’s heart sing with pride.
The kid’s face froze. He nodded solemnly, gripping Ramos by the shoulders, obviously expecting death at John’s hands. John stunned them both and left the room.
****
Rodney whipped around at the sound of his approach and then let out a huge, gusty sigh of relief when he recognized John. “Oh, thank god. Everything’s going pear-shaped on us. The sequence of explosions is all shot to hell, one of the guards got suspicious and I had to launch early. I barely got away myself. I wasn’t sure you’d make it in time. Ohmygod, what’s wrong with you?” Rodney stopped in the middle of opening the heavy hanger door when John paused to lean up against it instead of helping to push.
“Nothing. I’ll be fine.” There was nothing Rodney could do about it anyway.
“Fine hell, I recognize that gritted-teeth expression of yours, Colonel ‘Come back here you coward’.” John gave a half-laugh at the Monty Python reference and grimaced when Rodney pulled his bloodied hand away from his side.
Blue eyes wide with shock greeted him when he looked up into Rodney’s face. “Oh. That’s…that’s just…right.” Rodney gulped, swallowing hard. “Okay…that’s not so bad. Wait here.”
John closed his eyes and let the hanger door hold him up. A few seconds, minutes, hours later he felt Rodney push aside the jacket and press something to his side that made him hiss in pain. “Hold this,” Rodney said, pressing his slick fingers over a folded cloth to his side. There was the sound of tape being pulled off a roll and John opened his eyes to Rodney’s evil grin. “You think this hurts now,” Rodney smirked, reaching around John to wrap the tape around him several times, securing the cloth firmly to his body. “Wait ‘til Carson tries to pull this off your hairy self.” John touched the industrial strength tape with his fingers, deciding he’d kill Rodney later. He felt Rodney grip his arm and he looked up into Rodney’s intensely worried expression. He forced a grin in response.
Somehow they got the hanger door open and into the glider. John’s brain went on autopilot, checking the functions of the two-man ship automatically. An HUD obligingly popped up, giving him the read-outs he needed.
“No DHD,” Rodney said from behind him, reading his mind. “We’ll have to land and then dial the Gate before we go through. And we can’t go to Atlantis without the GDO, so I vote for the alpha-site.”
“Right,” John agreed. It was a good thing they were sitting down for this part. He hit the launch sequence and the millennia-old craft propelled itself forward as though it had been waiting all this time for his command, slamming them backwards in their seats with the acceleration.
“I see they hadn’t perfected the inertial dampeners on this model,” Rodney’s voice was disapproving from the rear.
John ignored him, concentrating on not plummeting to the ground. It was close, very close. The glider dropped like a rock when its forward momentum died and they plunged for the ground, just missing the tops of the plants nodding their grain-heavy heads in the fields when the secondary systems kicked in and John was able to pull the ship up.
“Oh thank god,” Rodney moaned from the back. “Oh my, I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Find me the Gate, McKay,” John turned the glider in a sweeping move towards the open road that Rodney had seen from the city above. He felt a thin sheen of sweat break out over his body. He just had to hold it together for a little longer. Almost there.
“Got it,” Rodney said suddenly. “Coordinates coming to you. Looks like we’re about 50 km away. ETA two minutes.”
John had to increase altitude as they approached the forest at high speed in order to clear the tree line. A warning light began blinking on the control panel in front of him. Two minutes, he cursed, glancing at the read-out. You couldn’t give me two fucking minutes? Sweat began to roll down the side of his face and his grip on the controls turned his knuckles white.
“We’re not going to make it,” he said aloud, knowing Rodney had the same read-out in front of him. “We’ll pick a nice spot and land. No big deal.” He had to get out from over this forest; he had to find some open ground. He had to get Rodney closer to the Gate. Because there was no way he could make it on foot. Rodney was going to have to go home without him.
****
Notgoodnotgoodnotgood, the words ran through Rodney’s mind in a seemingly unending loop. He supposed it was inevitable that this would happen, as it so often did, that they would get so far in their escape plan and then have catastrophe strike.
Truth be told, Rodney was somewhat surprised that they had managed to get this far - when one of his more observant ‘keepers’ had gotten suspicious and demanded to know why he was accessing the base’s auxiliary energy supplies as opposed to the independent power generator Torquin had set up for him to use, Rodney had thought that the jig was up. He had briefly considered trying to bluff his way out of it, but had not wanted to risk being removed from the lab before he’d had time to initiate the first set of explosions; he’d been left with no alternative but to implement the escape plan ahead of schedule and trust that John had his C4 at the ready and would be able to make it to the launch bay in time. He had been so relieved when John had appeared. Despite his assurances to the contrary, Rodney was not certain he would have been able to bring himself to leave alone had John not appeared in time. No, somewhere along the line, abandoning John had simply become unthinkable. They were a team, a partnership - daring heroics and last minute miracles together, that was their thing. That said, as their glider continued its plummet to earth, Rodney was beginning to wonder whether perhaps they had at last run out of luck.
Rodney watched the data provided by the glider’s HUD as if mesmerized, his brain performing speed and impact calculations over and over again entirely beyond the control his conscious volition. He heard John start to curse from the pilot seat in front of him and looked up, tilting his head to the side to watch as John fought to maintain the glider’s altitude, John's hands gripping the controls tightly. The prototype glider shuddered and jolted in flight, the stomach-churning motion combining with the terror already rolling though Rodney and making him grip the sides of his seat, his body tense with fear even though he knew he needed to relax to minimize the trauma of a crash landing.
Two minutes and 50 kilometers from the gate - it was too long, too far, they weren’t going to make it. Judging from the readouts, they’d be lucky if they made it two-thirds of that distance. Rodney thought he heard John shout out something about landing and, glancing out the window, he could see that John had managed to locate a clearing in amongst the miles of forest spread out below them. Unable to look away, Rodney watched the ground rush up to meet them at a dizzying pace. He leaned forward automatically at the last minute and assumed the brace position, his arms coming up to protect his head as he readied himself for one of John Sheppard’s special landings.
The impact of their landing jarred through him with a tremendous blow, the force of it knocking him first backwards into his seat and then throwing him forwards into the back of John’s chair as the glider skidded and bounced along the uneven ground. He felt the breath leave his body and stars exploded before his eyes, his vision blacking out. He fought hard to maintain consciousness - he couldn’t afford to pass out, John was injured, John would need him and they both needed to get to the gate. He finally felt the glider judder to a halt and found himself lying in a painful heap on the floor, gasping uselessly for breath as his lungs strained to draw in air.
Finally the pressure in his chest eased sufficiently and Rodney inhaled deeply, drawing in a great lungful of air in relief. The rush of oxygen to his brain made him feel light-headed for a moment, and the world spun nauseatingly as Rodney lay on his back wedged between the glider’s bucket seats and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. It felt like he was lying at an angle and he heard an ominous groan of metal from the glider itself. Suddenly the entire ship tilted, smashing down to the ground hard and forcing a cry from Rodney’s mouth as he was thrown heavily to one side. He opened his eyes cautiously and raised his head, his body tensing in preparation for further movements of the crashed vessel, but fortunately none seemed forthcoming.
“John?” he called out, but there was no response from the front of the craft; a cold knot of fear coiled low in his belly. With a grunt, Rodney tried to lever himself up off the floor, the pounding in his head growing more painful as he moved. There were shards of glass from the windows and windshield scattered over him and bits of twisted metal from the glider’s body were sticking out all along the right-hand side of the ship, the material dented and buckled by the force of the crash. Worryingly, it looked like part of the cockpit had taken a hit and a section of it was dented down directly over where John would have been sitting.
“John?” Rodney called again, his eyes running frantically over the back of John's chair hoping to make out some indication of where John was and how badly he was injured. Again there was no reply and Rodney felt his worry magnify exponentially. He rolled over onto his side, hoping to be able to lever himself up from there, but as soon as he tried to brace his weight on his right arm a hot, sharp stab of pain caught him unawares. His arm crumpled uselessly beneath him as he fell forward onto his belly amongst the sharp shards of crash debris, the agony making tears well in his eyes. Whimpering, Rodney rolled over onto his back again, taking the pressure off his injured arm and cradling to his chest with his left. Cautiously he felt along the length of his forearm, wincing as he felt the bones move in one place, something they certainly should not do. Damn it, he thought, definitely broken then.
Rodney lay still for several moments, willing the worst of the pain to abate. He then slowly shifted various part of his body, starting with his feet and working his way up, checking carefully for any further injuries. Apart from his arm, the pounding of his head, and the familiar ache in his lower back, nothing more appeared to be amiss. Breathing a sigh of relief that his situation was not worse, he sat up slowly, grimacing, and tried to get to his feet. They were still a long way from being out of danger. Despite the various explosions he'd set and the bugs he'd planted in the base's computer network, Torquin and his soldiers were bound to find out about their escape sooner or later - and Rodney planned to be at least a wormhole away when that happened. But, more importantly than that, Rodney needed to check on John.
Unsteady on his feet, but standing, Rodney managed to activate the controls on the glider's side which opened the cockpit hatch. He let out a murmur of gratitude when the top section of the glider lifted up and then slid slowly open. The mechanism had obviously been damaged and the action was accompanied by the ear-shattering shriek of metal tearing against metal. Nevertheless, it worked and fresh air wafted into the glider's interior as the clear blue, cloudless sky emerged. Rodney left his eyes drift closed for a moment, the cool breeze on his brow coming as a welcome distraction from the agony of his body. He used it to gather his strength and then opened his eyes and looked into the front of the glider.
Rodney's heart stopped beating at the sight that greeted him. John lay slumped sideways in the pilot's seat, his head crushed up against the glider's left side and blood pooling around his unconscious body. A steady stream of red trickled from a vicious gash in his right temple and the entire right side of the Rodney's jacket, which John still wore, was dark with it. To make matters worse, his legs appeared to be trapped beneath the flight control console, which had been battered forward by their landing and currently pinned John's lower body to his chair. John's face was deathly pale and Rodney couldn't make out if he was still breathing.
In what felt like the longest moments of his life, Rodney lent forward and carefully placed the first two fingers of his left hand on the pulse point of John's neck. He tried to ignore the screams of his mind and instead concentrated on searching for John's heartbeat, as if he could will it into being by the pure strength of his desire, no, need for it to be there. For there to be no pulse, for John to truly be- his mind shied away from completing the sentiment, he couldn't even think it. A series of images flashed through his mind; John's courage in the face of Torquin's sadistic torture, the light in John's eyes when Rodney told him about the prototype glider, the determination in his expression as they sketched out their desperate escape plan, the tenderness he'd shown as they lay curled together on the thin pallet of their cell.
There it was, faint and uneven, but there was definitely still blood pumping through John's arteries. Rodney couldn't help giving into his temptation to touch John, leaning forward still further, ignoring the spasming of his back, and letting his forehead rest lightly on John's chest for a second.
Drawing back he moved his hand from John's neck to touch John's cheek, grimacing as he examined the deep cut in John's temple. As his fingertips made contact with John's bristled jaw, John's eyelids flickered and his head twitched.
“Careful,” Rodney said at once, stilling John's movements by cupping his face.
John's eyes flickered open and Rodney was relieved to see his pupils react to the light and then focus sharply on Rodney's face. “Hey,” John said as Rodney let his hand fall away. “What happened?” he asked groggily.
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Some pilot you are,” he replied. “We crashed. You know, our plane fell out of the sky? Lost forward momentum and plummeted to the ground? Our upward force weakened and we fell foul of the laws of gravity? Does any of this sound familiar to you?”
John grinned weakly. “Ah, we crashed,” he said. “Thought I recognized the sensation.”
“That, Colonel,” Rodney said sharply. “Does not inspire confidence.”
“Hey,” John protested as he looked around, taking in Rodney's condition, their surroundings, the open jumper roof hatch and his own fairly dire state. “We got out of Compound of Doom, didn't we?”
“Hmm,” Rodney huffed.
“Exactly, so it ain't all bad.”
Rodney raised his eyebrows skeptically at that. “You've obviously suffered serious brain damage if you think that,” he snapped.
“Yeah, well, crash victim here, remember?”
“Oh yes, because that had slipped my mind,” Rodney replied sarcastically. “Man with a concussion, broken arm and wrenched back here, you know.”
“Only us, huh?” John said weakly, his lips curling up into a small smile.
“Yeah,” Rodney replied. “Us.”
John's eyes widened for a moment, but then he let out a little huff of laughter. “Okay, then,” he said. “Let's finish this thing, then, with our usual style and grace.”
“By the skin of our teeth, you mean?” Rodney asked dryly.
“Wing and a prayer, buddy,” John replied. “Wing and a prayer.”
Rodney felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “Well,” he said, gesturing around them. “It would appear that our wing has been rather thoroughly broken and praying has never really been my thing, so...” he trailed off.
“So,” John continued. “You head to the gate and find us some new wings and I'll do my best to holding up the prayer end here.” He hefted up one of the energy weapons that Torquin and his men had carried. “See,” he said to Rodney with a grin. “I'm even doing slightly better than the angels on the weapons front.”
“I'm not leaving you,” Rodney said at once, ignoring John's ramblings and only just remembering not to cross his arms with his denial.
“You don't have a choice, buddy,” John replied calmly, gesturing towards his trapped legs with the barrel of his weapon. “I'm stuck here and, even if I weren't, I'm pretty sure I'm not up for walking.” His eyes then flickered over Rodney's broken arm. “And you're sure as hell not up for carrying me.”
He was right, Rodney realized in despair. There was really only one way out of this - for him to make it to the gate and back to Atlantis so that a rescue team could be sent to retrieve John.
Okay - he could do this, Rodney told himself. What was it Teyla had said? That Pegasus and Atlantis were his home too now, one for which he fought every single day. Not just Pegasus and Atlantis, Rodney realized with a start. As he looked down at John, he had to acknowledge that his home was here too. That John was the reason he fought so hard, succeeded so brilliantly and fell so hard. Not the only reason, to be sure, but perhaps one of the largest.
“Okay,” he said, feeling a sense of determination flood through him. “I'll go. But don't you go and do anything stupid like die or anything before I get back.”
John snorted. “I'll do my best, buddy,” he promised. “Now let's get your arm wrapped up and get you on your way.”
****
Read Wing and a Prayer part 5