Bullets, Plural: A Stargate Atlantis Fic

[water4willows]

Title: Bullets, Plural: FF.Net / AO3 / LJ (Pt. 1 & Pt. 2)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters: John S., Rodney M., Ronan D., Teyla E., Dr. Keller
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, One-Shot
Pairings: None, John/Rodney Friendship
Rating: PG for Violence & Language
Words: 11,302 in 2 parts
Summary: "The passageway he folds in is dark. The only light to be seen is the lazy muted white the flashlight at the end of his P90 throws off from its place on the floor near his feet - the place where it landed after he body checked McKay out of the way."

There are bullets, plural.

He knows there are three because that's how many impacts he feels before his back hits the wall and he slides to the ground when his legs give out from under him. The passageway he folds in is dark. The only light to be seen is the lazy muted white the flashlight at the end of his P90 throws off from its place on the floor near his feet - the place where it landed after he body checked McKay out of the way.

Three bullets and he can tell where each one of them landed: one in the chest, one through the hand and one into the flesh of his thigh.

Someone (maybe one of his, maybe one of theirs) kicks his gun in the desperate scramble for tactical advantage and now only muzzle flash around the corner illuminates the space around him as the battle moves on.

And there's not enough air.

Every time he tries to inhale what he needs the oxygen meets some impenetrable barrier and he's spent enough time around injury to know what it probably means. So what would Carson do?

Carson would tell him to at least try. Tell him to apply pressure and give it a shot. So that's what he tries to do, and nearly forgets there's a hole in his hand. He would curse at the pain it ignites if he could. In fact there's a nice four letter word preparing itself on the tip of his tongue already but he can't voice it and it dies there before it can even be born.

"Too bad," he thinks, detached. "It was a doozey, too." But even thinking hurts and he lets his head roll back to knock against the mossy wetness of the algae covered stone wall behind his shoulders.

The darkness around him is claustrophobic and he can't make out a single shape or body around him. He knows he wasn't the only one to fall. Yet even though the blackness is absolute whiteness creeps in around the edges of the dark and something just below his skin and near the hole in chest alters. It's a warning, he figures. A warning that this might be it.

The end of it all.

He's been here before... more times than he cares to count, but at least this time he courts the edge of the abyss in the service of a friend. McKay is alive (he made sure of that) and will live on to invent the things that will change the world. And John? John will become a distant memory. A sad smile the scientist will let escape when he thinks no one is looking and John's okay with this.

It's a good way to go. A good way for a soldier.

So maybe now he can rest because ever since that day she died - that beautiful creature he called Mom - he's been living in this kind of survival mode. It was necessary, he knows this; he had David to protect from his father's grief, his own fragile heart to adequately armor - and when those causes were lost to him he refocused those efforts on the soldiers under his command. It was a good life and one he's proud of but to think of standing down, of sinking into the earth to let others take care of the rescuing and the fighting for once, well, it's something he thinks he might deserve now. Something he could...

"Oh know you don't," he hears a voice say and something heavy clamps down on the hole in his chest and his shriveled little lungs remember their place for a moment. He rolls his head, no longer having the strength to lift it from its slick pillow, and squints up at the shadowed face of Dr. Rodney McKay.

"Sheppard! What the hell did you just do?" His friend kneels beside him shivering. A line of blood is snaking its way from a cut above his eye - probably from when John pushed him - and he's looking as pissed off as John's ever seen.

"R-Rodney," he sputters out and its more than just the scientist's name he lets escape past his lips unchecked. The fragile utterance hints of the conclusions he's already come to on his own and Rodney's P90 light lifts to shine on his face. Their eyes meet for the briefest of moments and Rodney's go wide with understanding. It flits across his features like epiphany but fizzles out a moment later as the scientist looks angrily away. It isn't the goodbye he was going for, but John guesses it will have to do.

"Do you have any idea how monumentally stupid what you just did was?" Rodney spits at him, propping his gun against the slime covered wall with one hand while the other stays fixed over the wound in John's chest. The light the flashlight throws is faint, but it's just enough to see by.

"Honestly, John. They could have killed you!"

He wants to open his mouth and argue that they probably have, but Rodney's free hand is searching his torso for more holes and he has to grit his teeth to keep from crying out.

"You know, you've done some pretty stupid shit over the years, Sheppard. But this... this has gotta take the cake. I mean, what the hell were you thinking?"

Rodney's demanding answers from him but John doesn't know what to tell him. He saw the gun, knew instinctively where the bullets would land, and he made a decision. It's as simple as that but the explanation is something he knows Rodney will never accept so he stays silent.

"Typical," The scientist mutters in true McKay fashion, but John lets the slight slide. Pain is lancing its way up his back and he shifts when it reaches the base of his neck. He coughs then, just a little, but something metallic rises up into the back of his throat and he swallows it down not letting himself think of what it might mean.

"And I can't believe you pushed me! This isn't some damn Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, John!"

He pulls his wavering focus back to Rodney who's hands are shaking in anger. John fills his lungs as best he can and puts his good hand on the arm Rodney's using to cover the hole in his chest.

"'S okay, Rodn'y."

"The hell it is!" The physicist practically growls at him. "They shot you!"

When they're eyes meet again in the dark John worries the resignation behind his will be seen by his friend and he tries to put something there that will rally Rodney's spirits rather than dismantle them further. It must not work because Rodney's head drops down and his shoulders shake with something John's pretty sure he's not supposed to see.

"No, I won't let you..." Rodney croaks a moment later, but a noise towards the end of the passageway has both men looking left automatically.

The network of caves they're lost in throws sound around illogically. John can't tell exactly where the careful footfalls originate from but he's pretty sure it's not their particular corridor. Rodney apparently doesn't come to this same conclusion and hurriedly douses the light from his gun. Pinning John closer to the wall with his weight, the hand still clamped down over his wound increases its pressure against him, and John's world blinks out of existence without his permission.

The place where he goes to has no room for anything other than the memories his own brain produces and he's back in that other Genii stronghold... that other place deep in the earth where there's nothing but the greedy hot pull of pain as the Wraith feeds from him under Koyla's lost and dead gaze. Being fed on by the Wraith isn't all that much different than being shot in the chest he decides. They share the same slow draw that drains him completely of all that he is, pulling it out through a hole in his chest.

These memories are strong ones. They even invade his dreams at times and once caught in their clutches, their nearly impossible to escape... He's always tied to the chair, ropes biting into the flesh of his wrists. Elizabeth's voice always comes through the camera they have trained on him, her cries to stop, please just stop, ring in his ears... He was helpless in that place and it's happening again to him now so he uses all the rage the remembered feelings invoke and claws himself back up to the present.

McKay has a hand clamped over his mouth when he resurfaces and he fights against the urge to knock it away from his face. He must have called out at some point in the dream because Rodney is rigid against him and trying not to breath, like the added silence will cloak them further somehow from whomever is approaching. If things get messy John's going to have to try and defend their position. He even goes as far as to fumble for his sidearm in the dark, but the movement slices him in half and its all he can do not to cry out.

The footsteps pause at the end of the corridor and time stands still for a beat. He's pretty sure his wheezing is audible - that the drops of his blood hitting the stone floor are giving their position away to the enemy - but he can't help it. Even the strain of holding his body still is taking its toll and he sags involuntarily against the solid heat of McKay when he can't hold himself upright any longer. The scientist doesn't let him fall but rests his cheek against the side of John's head in the only move available to him that doesn't make a sound. It's a gesture John takes to mean that he's far from alone in this fight, that he's got someone to watch his six if things go sideways, and he holds what little breath he has in as they wait.

Immeasurable minutes pass with no movement from down the hall and for a moment John is certain they've been discovered. The tactical part of his brain runs scenarios of how he can get Rodney out of this alive once the shit hits the fan and he winds his pain and frustration up as tightly as they'll go. He'll use them as a springboard to get himself up off the floor, maybe even get in a few good punches and inflict some damage on whomever it is that stalks them in the dark.

"Here it comes," he thinks, "...the wind up and the pitch..." But a moment later the footfalls move on and Rodney practically collapses on top of him with a sagging sigh of relief. John lets out his own shaky breath but the movement shifts something inside and he lets out a hiss Rodney takes the blame for.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes in a whisper, scuttling back and away from John but keeping a hand on his shoulder to keep him upright. They can't risk the light just yet. If their visitor is still lurking nearby they'll see, so John closes his eyes and focuses in on his breathing. It only hurts when he moves so he does his best to stay still.

A few minutes later Rodney turns the flashlight back on and sweeps its beam around the corridor to make sure the passageway is empty. Even in the faint light John can see that the scientist has gone white as a sheet and worries for a moment that he's going to lose the calm focused Rodney he's been depending on for the past few minutes for the illogical, pessimistic mess from before.

"Okay, McKay?" He grinds out and Rodney turns towards him sharply like John's just startled him but offers a shaky nod in return. It's not often their roles are reversed, that Rodney plays the hero while John is the damsel in distress - but it is known to happen.

When Rodney kneels back down to start bandaging the wound in John's chest with trembling hands he almost wants to commend the man. This isn't the Rodney McKay he met 5 years ago who wouldn't even think of sullying his scientific hands with someone else's blood. This Rodney McKay is steadfast and brave and John's glad in that moment he has him.

"What were you thinking, John?" The question pulls Sheppard from his thoughts and he tries not to jerk when the physicist pulls at his vest to try and get a better view of the damage he's working with.

"Wasn't I guess..." He lies, knowing it's probably what Rodney needs to hear.

"Well that's fairly obvious," but his friend's snark is unconvincing and Rodney tosses the bandage he's been working with off to the side with a frustrated huff before grabbing another from his vest pocket. "Seriously, what were you thinking?"

"You ask'd me that… a-already... McKay." The words come out thick, the adrenalin from earlier burning off fast and the scientist stops his ministrations to look up at John.

"Yeah, well, I can ask you whatever the hell I want. You pushed me, remember?" McKay fumbles with something at his chest in the dark and a second later the pressure around his middle eases minutely. Rodney's unlatched his flack vest and John manages to pull in a bigger breath than before but pays for it with another round of wet hacking coughs that coat his mouth in blood again. When he finishes spitting the iron away McKay puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Alright?"

John nods.

With the vest unlatched Rodney's got better access to the wound and John grits his teeth to stop himself from crying out every time the physicist prods jagged flesh. He knows what Rodney does is necessary and tries to hide the agony he's in as best he can, but when Rodney shifts him forward slightly to snake the bandage's tails around his back to secure it more firmly against him, there's no holding back the cry it rips from him and he jolts.

The movement is involuntary, his body no longer obeying his pleading orders to calm, so he closes his eyes against the decimation and tries not slip back into the shaky nightmares that threaten on the edge of his mind. Rodney gently pushes him back against the wall when it's over and John spends unknowable minutes with eyes tightly closed clutching at the thin tendrils of consciousness which are all that anchor him in place. He needs more air but every time he tries to move in the volumes of it his lungs demand, the attempt is aborted by a stab of pain that leaves him feeling desperate. One unimpeded breath is all he needs but it remains elusive and he knows deep down that things aren't working like they should inside of him. He's lightheaded and the feeling of weightlessness is unnerving but he can't let himself go just yet and he forces his eyelids back open. Rodney is sitting back on his haunches with eyes wide as saucers and John realizes then how much he must have just scared his friend.

"Still with me?" Rodney's voice cracks and John offers a weak nod, their roles reversed again.

"Okay," Rodney nods back, actually placated for once. "Okay."

With no more need for his hand on John's chest Rodney collapses against the wall beside him and they lapse into silence for a while. If John could manage more than just a few sputtered words at a time then he knows how he'd fill the silence but as it is he can only sit and try to match his breathing to Rodney's. Every inhalation is a new lesson in torture, but he refuses to let his lungs give up just yet.

"John?" Rodney pipes up a little while later.

"Yeah?"

"Did you see the guns they were carrying?"

"Yeah, R'ney," he chokes, tasting blood again. "I did."

"If I had known... I never would have..." but Rodney doesn't finish the sentence and John's glad for it. He doesn't have the air to interrupt his friend and tell him not knock it the fuck off.

Rodney's words are an admission of guilt and it's so uncharacteristic of McKay that John would yell if he could. There was no way any of them could have known what they were walking into. It was a fluke, a strange element in the planet's soil that hid the secret Genii rebel base from their sensors. A secret base armed to the teeth with young and hungry soldiers fed solely on a diet of nothing but 'kill any Atlantian you see' no less. So no, Rodney doesn't get to shoulder the blame for this one.

"S-stop it," he pushes out and turns his head as best he can to try and make out Rodney in the dark. He's pointedly looking away but John can't let this go on. If he dies here and Rodney blames himself John knows what it will do to his friend. He needs a distraction.

"R'ney, you need t'.. need t'get outta here buddy."

"Excuse me?" McKay's voice is angry but it's the reaction John was hoping for.

"Get out... of here. G-go find help."

"Are you out of your freakin' mind!?" McKay pushes away from the wall and rounds on him. He's been expecting this and he hardens himself against the fire Rodney breathes.

"I'm not leaving you here John and that's final." Rodney crosses his arms over his chest like some petulant child and John wants to tell him to give it up, that it's no use. He wants to tell his friend to run and leave him here to die. To warn him that there are still more of them out there and that the longer they stay here exposed, the more likely it is that another group of kids with guns will find them.

"You do not get to send me away. And you most certainly do not get to give up!"

He has no weapon against the look Rodney throws at him then but when the fight goes out of him he releases more control than he should and his head falls forward till his chin hits his chest. Nothing he does can make it lift and Rodney grabs his face roughly and forces his head back up until John can do nothing but meet the penetrating gaze and try not to fall apart at what he sees there in those eyes... what he's put there.

"What did I just tell you?" The scientist's voice goes high, just like it does when he's terrified... just like it does when he sees no solution. "Pull it together, Colonel!"

It's challenge in its purest form and John engages his neck muscles so that when Rodney pulls his hand away after realizing how forceful he's being, John doesn't let his head fall again. He can give Rodney this one show of strength, though he knows what it will cost him in the end. He deals in energy now, and in his world and in this moment, it's no longer a renewable resource. Regardless of the cost though, his little stunt has done the trick and John can already see the cogs working away in Rodney's brain. Something's brewing and its almost enough to make John smile.

"Look," Rodney says after a heavy beat and his eyes have returned to normal, "we should move you. You're sitting in a puddle of something and if you die from pneumonia after Jennifer patches you up, I swear to God I'll kill you myself."

John almost laughs as that.

"Plus we can't stay here. It's only a matter of time before they come back for their dead. I'll help you. We can..."

"Can't McKay," he admits and moves his good hand to the field dressing at his chest when the wound there throbs unexpectedly as if reiterating the point.

"Sure you can!" Rodney paints his voice with false bravado but John can tell he's working out exactly what 'can't McKay' really means. "Who knows what muck is in this cave and my pants are already soaked. See?"

Rodney grabs the P90 from its place against the wall and shines the white beam at his knees for dramatic emphasis. Whatever plan he has must backfire then because he freezes and his silence says more in the space of a moment than any cynical Rodney McKay argument ever could. John pulls his eyes downward and even though the world rolls beneath him from the movement, he doesn't miss the blood covered palm that Rodney hastily pulls from the line of the light to hide what he's found.

Click here for Part 2