Scientist, Wraith Killer, Space Pilot

(Defiant Ones Epilogue)

disclaimer: don't own, no monetary reward, don't sue

“He said I was different.”

Hovering on the edge of sleep, the words tugged at me. Quiet, contemplative, they weren’t your normal Rodney McKay words. Not arrogant or smug, demanding or bossy, specifically complaining or just general bitching…not the usual McKay in other words. “I am flying in a straight line.” Right. “I’m allergic to bees.” Who among us didn’t see that coming? “Seriously, are we almost there?” And here I thought only the Wraith sucked the life out of you.

I raised a hand in time to cover the amused twitch of my mouth. Weary, but amused. I liked McKay. Hell, I had from the beginning, believe it or not. If nothing else, he kept things interesting. And he had depths, our boy Rodney did. You might have to look hard for them, but they were there and more often than not popped up when you least expected it.

Like now.

“Who?” I moved my hand to my face and scrubbed it hard. Damn, I was tired.

His hands tightened on the Jumper’s controls, sending us in yet another long curving loop. Still, it was in the general direction of Atlantis, and I let it go. I’d said I’d let him drive, and the kids need some leeway or they never learn. Hesitating for a moment, he exhaled, “Gaul.”

Gaul, who had eaten his gun and in the process saved my ass. If McKay hadn’t shown up when he had, I’d have been dead. No two ways about it. Dead and gone with the glowbugs searching my corpse for crumbs. Rodney…Rodney might have made it. Ford and Teyla were minutes away. It was possible…barely…that with the firepower they carried that they could’ve taken out super-Wraith when they landed, found Mckay and Gaul, and skipped happily back home with me stashed in a body bag on the luggage rack. Not that I would’ve been alone. Abrams would’ve kept me silent company.

What a royal fuck up.

“Well…am I?”

I jerked my thoughts back. “Are you what?”

“Different,” he said peevishly. “Are you even listening to me, Major? Or are you more concerned that the Wraith had better hair than you?”

Automatically, I ran a hand over my hair, the spikes tickling my palm. “In his dreams,” I muttered. Then I shifted in the chair and winced as ribs howled in protest. “And I’m listening. Jesus. Different how?”

He frowned and shifted too, but the movement had nothing to do with his ribs. It was more a mental discomfort than a physical one. “He said that I wanted to get out there, fight the Wraith, help you.”

“Ah, I see.” And I did.

“See what?” From peevish to irritable in .25 seconds. “What do you think you see? That I’m different? That now I’ll come to your rescue, guns blazing, but before I’d cower back on base with my tail between my legs? Is that what you see, because I’m really curious to know, Major I-never-saw-Alien-so-let’s-check-out-that-distress-beacon Sheppard.”

Damn, glad I didn’t have to learn to spell that name in kindergarten. Hell, I’d spelled John with a G for months. Sighing, I dug in my pocket, brought out my last power bar, unwrapped it and offered it to McKay. “Eat up. Last thing we need is to be pulled over for weaving.”

He glared, not mollified, but accepted it with one hand and took a bite. When his mouth was occupied and the world safe for sane conversation, I drawled, “No, McKay, you’re not different. Gaul was wrong.”

Eyebrows climbed then furrowed and his jaws worked faster. Hastily, I went on before he could, “You’re the same as you’ve always been. Annoying as hell, think you’re smarter than Einstein and God combined, but you have a lot more guts than you know. And if you tell anyone I said so, I’ll tell them you fondle Weir’s panties in the laundry room.”

The chewing became choking instantly. Sincere, genuine, beet red to purple choking. Mildly alarmed, I slapped him on the back and a moist wad of power bar was expelled to splat against the front screen of the ‘jumper. It slid lazily down leaving a trail of wetness like the track of a slug. “Yeahhh,” I said conversationally. “That I am not cleaning up.” Swinging my arm that quickly had done my ribs not one damn bit of good and I leaned back, taking shallow breaths and feeling cold sweat prickle the back of my neck.

“You…you…you,” he sputtered. He was still red, but this time it wasn’t from a lack of oxygen.

Wrapping a bracing arm around aching ribs, I couldn’t resist it. “Don’t you want to know who’s fondling yours? Pony tail, perpetually sour puss, even more of a pain in the ass than you….”

The red faded and he looked at me speculatively, ignoring a truly great jibe. “You really thought I had guts…from the beginning?”

The thing about people like McKay…scratch that, there was no one like McKay. The thing about McKay that made him braver than most was that he was so goddamn smart. He knew, in an infinite of horrendous possibilities, precisely what the consequences of his actions could be. Where others might have only a vague idea, he absolutely knew. Could see it in glorious technicolor. It was the type of thing that didn’t make for good soldiers, but it made for truly heroic men. Rodney, knowing what he knew, still did what he had to do. Not only was it poetic in a Dr. Seuss kind of way, it was admirable as hell.

But there was only so much feeding of the McKay ego that was good for the known universe. Then Gaul’s face flashed through my mind, gray and drained…dying and hopeless. Closing my eyes, I murmured, “Yeah, Rodney, from the beginning. Now fly the ship already. I’m taking a nap.” I cracked an eye. “Remember, tell anyone….”

He waved a hand. “Yes, yes. Your reputation as having the biggest balls on Atlantis is safe with me.” As I turned my attention back to sleep, he continued, “After all, you did take me along as your back up instead of Ford or Teyla, made me your co-pilot.” I didn’t have to have my eyes open to know he was puffing out his chest and gazing oh-so nobly into the starry distance. “A function I’m fulfilling quite excellently if I do say so myself. Scientist, Wraith killer, space pilot.”

Right, McKay, you’re a regular triple threat.” Giving up sleep as a lost cause, I stood cautiously and hobbled to the back of the ‘jumper in search of Tylenol. Lots and lots of Tylenol. “And you didn’t kill the Wraith, Ford did.”

Because we couldn’t. Couldn’t save ourselves. Couldn’t save Gaul and Abrams, and let’s face it…we’d gotten them into that mess. I’d gotten them into it. McKay had been as curious as I was, as hot to see the Wraith ship, but in the end the decision was mine. I could’ve said it was too dangerous, not worth the risk. It was just one more of a string of grand fucking decisions I’d made since I’d stepped through the gate.

“Well, maybe not, but I did save you. Temporarily,” he pointed out dryly. “Although you were quite impressive wielding that lethal power bar. Taking on a Wraith with granola, it says something about the forks in your family tree, Major. Or the lack thereof. By the way, did you know you’re bleeding?”

Bleeding. Belatedly I noticed the warm trickle of blood making its way down my arm. Ford had done a quick and efficient field dressing on it on the planet and it wasn’t anything serious to begin with. A graze, a small chunk of missing flesh, it would scab over in days and in two weeks I’d have a puckered scar. It definitely shouldn’t be bleeding, not like this. “Well, shit,” I growled. I already had the first aid kit open and I grabbed a gauze to mop up the crimson coursing from beneath the bandage. “Perfect end to a perfect day.”

“Oh now you’re just making a mess. Here. Let me.”

Startled, I looked up. McKay was holding out his hand for the gauze. “I put it on autopilot,” he said impatiently, snapping his fingers in a hurry up gesture as I hesitated. “And I know you trust its flying more than mine.”

“You’re only saying that because its true.” Chest itching, I scratched it through my T-shirt, slouched down in the seat and scowled as he quickly unwound the bandage. “Since when did you become Florence Nightingale?”

“Since you started bleeding all over my ‘jumper.” He replaced the gauze with an alcohol swab and efficiently cleaned up the blood trail down my arm. Not that he didn’t grimace at the task, he did. Grimaced, turned a little green around the gills, and muttered about pistol-packin’ Wraith. Once again…all McKay. He then moved on to unwinding the bandage.

“Your jumper?”

“My jumper,” he confirmed. “I bypassed the force field, put the entire thing back together…all in less than fifteen minutes, mind you…therefore I claim the Mighty McKay under right of salvage. When we get back I’ll paint the maple leaf on the side.”

“All right, I must be getting woozy from loss of blood because that almost makes sense.” I glanced down at the bullet wound. It was raw, red and as fresh as the moment I’d gotten it over four hours ago. “Okay, what the hell?” I scratched my chest again. “Maybe I need to listen to Beckett and take my Flintstones.”

A hand rested on top of mine and stopped the scratching. “Major.” He swallowed. “Take off your shirt.” I didn’t have a chance to obey or protest manly modesty; he grabbed double handfuls of it himself and yanked it up to my neck. And there it was burned into my chest, a Wraith handprint. How many times had he touched me there as he’d thrown me through the air—two? Three? Not time for a full-on feeding, not even time for a snack, but it was enough time for a taste.

“Oh shit. Shit.” McKay turned and lunged towards the front of the jumper. He had Beckett on the line in seconds tersely explaining the situation. While he did that, I tuned him out and redressed my arm. It’s not exactly easy bandaging one handed, but with enough tape you can accomplish anything. As for ignoring Rodney, I settled on a well-worn solution I’d come up in the very second hour of meeting him. One hundred bottles of beer on the wall, one hundred bottles of beer….

“What the hell are you doing? Lay down.” A hand pushed at my shoulder while another jerked frantically at the lever on the side of the chair. Advanced race like the Atlanteans and they still had levers on their chairs; I mean, really, why not a button? Or a nice mental trigger like the navigation system? What was the thought processes going on there?

It took the “Oh God, you’re delusional” to make me realize I was musing aloud. Suddenly the seat folded out smoothly and I was looking up warily at the face of Dr. McKay…Dr. Panic-stricken McKay. “Beckett, he’s delusional. What do I do? What the hell do I do? Maybe he has internal bleeding. Maybe he picked up space dysentery down on the planet. He never washes his hands. I offered him sanitizing gel, but would he take it? No. God forbid the macho Major should worry about hygiene. Shake it off and get moving he says….”

I still had on my ear transponder and heard Carson Beckett’s patient burr in my ear. “Major Sheppard, are you there?”

“Uh…yeah.” I watched as supplies began to fly out of the first aid kit. McKay was pawing through it like a dog digging for a bone.

“Ah, there you are, lad. So can you be telling me if you’re delusional or not.”

I put my hand on my forehead in the age-old futility of testing your own temperature. “You know, Doc, I didn’t think I was, but now I’m not so sure.” I was tired, sleepy, but considering the day, I thought I was entitled.

An amused rumble echoed in my ear. “Rodney’s done his part filling me in then, and I think what’s happened is a temporary weakening of your body’s defenses. The Wraith couldn’t have touched you longer than a second for what I hear. I believe what we’re looking at is slower clotting, slower healing. I imagine it’ll correct itself in a few hours. But until then….”

“It’s been a few hours already. Four and a half to be precise,” McKay interjected, self-appointed voice of doom. He had a bag of IV saline in one hand and a package of needles in the other.

“Hell no.” I started to sit up. “Get away from me, Dracula. I will pop you one, I shit you not.”

“Ah, he’s ready to start the IV I take it.”

Definitely amused, but there was an undercurrent of worry as well. “As I was saying, chances are it will correct itself given time, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to give you some fluids to replace the blood you’ve lost. I’ll talk Rodney through it. Just think of him as your own wee candy striper.”

The wee had to be for McKay’s benefit. That was a little broader accent than I’d heard on Beckett before. “I’ll think of him as my new boot cover when I insert my foot in his ass,” I shot back. “He is not sticking a needle in me. End of story. Besides….” Propped up on my elbow, I twisted my arm to look at the bandage. It was slowly staining with blood. “I’m bleeding, yeah, but it’s not enough to worry about. It’s a graze. I’m not exactly gushing like a firehose here. What’s the big deal?”

Rodney’s eyes left the package to meet mine, and his lips compressed tightly. He looked just as he had when I’d left him with Gaul. Worried as hell and not particular hopeful. It was reflected in Beckett’s abruptly somber voice, “Rodney had it right before, Major. Internal bleeding. The Wraith tossed you about quite a bit, didn’t he? Ordinarily you might’ve walked away with bruises, but after he…ah…had a taste, well, better safe than sorry.”

Tossed me about…that he had. Not to mention my stunning 9.0 dive into the force field. That had shaken the back teeth loose but good. Still…. “I think we’re making some big assumptions here.” I pointed a finger and scowled ominously as McKay sidled closer with his gear. “Even if I was sucked into a little temporary state of wimp, why don’t we check some vital signs or something first? Blood pressure, pulse. Hell, Beckett, you’re the doc. You know there are signs of internal bleeding and shock. Let’s check ‘em out before McKay starts digging for buried treasure in my arm.”

“I already have.” Somber all right. Ever heard an upbeat yet somber Scot? It’s a trick, I’ll grant you.

“What?” Okay, that delusional I was not. “I’ll bite, how? With your amazing psychic powers?” The fact that McKay looks as surprised as me at the revelation didn’t boost my confidence any. “You smuggle some good old Scotch whiskey through the gate with you, Beckett? You holding out on us?”

“It’s the chair, lad,” he said with an edge of impatience. “It doubles as a diagnostic device.”

“Since when?” I demanded, swatting McKay’s hand as he tried to push me back down.

“Since now apparently. I’m in the infirmary and your readings are on the heads-up display. Pulse is up, blood-pressure and temp are down. So, Major Sheppard,” the burr disappeared under a sudden inflexible command, “you will let Rodney start an IV on you, you will lay flat, and you will do all of this cheerfully and obediently. Are we clear?”

Unfortunately, we were.

It took McKay four attempts to get the needle in a vein. I would’ve bitched, but I thought it might be more prudent to wait until there were no more sharp pointy objects in his hand. After he started the IV fluids flowing he piled blankets on me and went forward to try and coax more speed out of the jumper. We were still ten hours out from Atlantis. It promised to be one long damn trip.

“You’re such an asshole.”

I blinked and McKay’s face swam fuzzily into view. I must’ve dozed off. God knows how. I’d have flashbacks of that needle coming at me for weeks. When it came to nuclear bombs McKay had the steadiest hands in the Pegasus galaxy. Give him a tiny needle and he shook like a caffeine addict three days after Mr. Coffee bit the big one. “I’m….” I coughed and licked dry lips. “I’m an asshole? How do you figure that, Dr. Kildare?”

He was hooking up another IV bag. Damn, I’d been out that long? “Yes, an asshole.” He sat down in the chair beside mine and glared at me. He was pale, looked tired and he had my gun. My gun? He had taken it right out of my holster while I slept. I narrowed my eyes and snaked an arm out of the blankets. He jerked the weapon out my reach and gave me a stubborn look. “Okay, Major, fine, you ignore me on a routine basis, but ignoring Dr. Beckett is just idiotic. Of course, why would I be surprised. You seem to have the corner on idiotic. You had to take the Wraith on by yourself, just you and your little Tinkerbell buddies. Perhaps if you’d tried clapping your hands and believing really, really hard you would’ve gotten more help out of them.”

That wasn’t exactly fair to our late glowy friends. They’d done their part in saving our asses, but I doubted McKay was in the mood to hear that right now. “What are you going to do, McKay?” I asked with hard won patience. “Shoot me if I get up? Won’t that kind of defeat the whole keeping me alive thing?”

“I’m not going to shoot anyone,” he snapped, avoiding my gaze and studying the gun in his hand. I almost missed the rest of it, the words so low they were kissing cousins to a whisper. “And neither are you.”

Oh. Goddamnit, could I have been any slower on the uptake?

I wasn’t Gaul, and the situation wasn’t the same, but that was damn easy for me to say, wasn’t it? I hadn’t seen what McKay had, hadn’t even known Gaul beyond a face in the halls of Atlantis. From the sounds of the back and forth between the two of them on the trip out, McKay and Gaul weren’t precisely friends…more like friendly rivals. Nonetheless, they’d had a connection, but now they had only the quiet of the grave. Letting McKay hold my piece for me wasn’t that much of a sacrifice in the face of that, was it?

“Okay, okay,” I pretended to grouse. “Keep it. If I have it, I’ll be tempted to pistol-whip you if I see you with another needle.”

“Ah, the celebrated military mind. If you can’t reason with it, hit it,” he snorted, face flushing with a more healthy color. “Violence is your only resort.”

“Trust me, McKay,” I drawled, weariness creeping over me as the ceiling spun lazily. “The military aren’t the only ones you drive to violence. You’d drive a Girl Scout to the edge of homicidal psychosis, trust me.”

“Yet you still chose me as your back up,” he repeated, eyes sparking with smug confidence. “Me. Dr. Rodney McKay…scientist, Wraith killer, and….”

“Space pilot,” I finished with a groan, tempted to pull the blankets over my head. Almost against my will, the corners of my mouth curled up. “Hell, I did, didn’t I?”

The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful, if you didn’t count the occasional frantic finger poking me in the ribs if I was sleeping too deeply. After the seventh time or so, I snarled without opening my eyes, “Yes, McKay, I’m still breathing, goddamnit. Now leave me alone or the panty thing is all over base.”

“And what panty thing would that be, lad?”

I opened my eyes to see Beckett peering down at me with confusion and not a little humor. “Um….” I looked around. White, white, and more white. I was in the infirmary…oh joy. Pureed food and rock hard mattresses, did it get any better than that? “What the hell happened?”

“You slipped into unconsciousness about two hours from Atlantis.” A hand patted my shoulder. “If you’re worried about your panties, lad, they were as clean as your mother would hope. And don’t all mothers tell you that, aye? Always wear clean underwear, you never know when you’ll be in an accident. Ah, mums, founts of wisdom they are.”

I slid eyes from one side, nothing but IVs, to the other, a haggard McKay with head pillowed on the bedside table. Sound asleep, he snored faintly and drooled a bit. His hair, much shorter than it had been months ago, was sticking up in tiny spikes. Yep, I’d known it all along…everyone was looking to copy my style. “He’ll do anything to avoid a debriefing, won’t he?” I said hoarsely, throat bone dry.

“Aye,” Beckett commented dryly. “I’m sure that’s it.” He disappeared for a moment and reappeared with a cup of water. “Slowly now.” He helped me sit up and I was shocked and annoyed at how weak I felt.

Sipping, I coughed then rasped, “I really did have internal bleeding? I kind of thought you were full of shit there, Doc, No offense.”

“Now how could I take offense at that?” he snorted. “And, yes, Major, you did. It did manage to resolve itself without surgery. A few liters of blood and something to encourage clotting and you turned the corner right enough. Although,” he finished cheerfully, “without those fluids Rodney gave you on the jumper you’d be pushing up the Atlantean daisies right about now.”

“Oh, man. I’ll never live this down.” I scrubbed my hand over my face and sighed. Rodney chose that moment to give a real ripsnorter of a snore. Alien moose on the mainland were twitching their ears at the strange mating call. I felt the grin touch my mouth. “Scientist, Wraith killer, space pilot….”

“Healer,” Beckett supplied with an answering grin.

“Pain in the ass know-it-all.” I shook my head and tugged at my top blanket until Beckett got the idea. He pulled it off and draped it over McKay’s shoulders and chest.

“Do you really ‘shake it and go on’?” Beckett with a disapproving chuckle. “We distribute that sanitizer for a reason, Major. Do you really want to prove Rodney right with the space dysentery?”

I scowled at the blissfully sleeping McKay and added darkly to the list, “Tattle-tale.” The very last item, however, I kept to myself.

Pretty damn good friend.

The End