Adrift Part Nine
Title: Adrift
Author: Westdean
Pairing: Carson/John
Rating: PG13
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Slash.
Spoilers: Set after The Tower but with spoilers of the "blink and you will miss them variety" up to The Return: part 1.
Prompt: Written for cosmonaut_elf as part of the icaw ficathon.
She requested a John/Carson pairing. Serious hurt/comfort. Serious, serious Carson whumping. The two of them getting stranded. Lots of blood and rain. John realising that he loves Carson (sort of first time). Written at speed (for me) and therefore probably incorrect in all sorts of canon facts but I don't care because writing this almost broke my brain.
Authors Note: Written unapologetically in British English and betaed to match by my lovely Dons, Geeks and Medics.
All music tracks are from the album Ringleader of the Tormentors by Morrissey
~SGA~
Part Nine.
It did not take long. The hunters seemed to treat this pursuit as a game. Carson and John heard them from afar, hunting cries were rising into the forest behind them. The Stargate was still miles away.
And the rain began again.
All too soon the first projectiles were zipping among the trees. Loosely targeted above their heads. John gaped at the detector. What the hell were they firing from such a distance? The weapons were moving too fast to see. Both men ducked as unseen missiles whirred between the tree trunks.
Carson was tiring - the man was in no shape to walk far let alone run across the soggy terrain. He suddenly stumbled as they crossed a mound of fallen branches - only John's quick hand to his elbow stopped him falling headlong.
Sheppard's eyes narrowed, the pursuit was too close, it was time to let the happy crew whooping along behind them know that they weren't just hunting rabbit.
Ahead of them was a fallen tree. Trunk high enough to shelter a crouching man, broken branch stumps to act as a rifle mount - it would do. He didn't let go of Carson's elbow until they reached the trunk, then both of them threw themselves over.
John immediately rose to his knees, brought Ronon's gun to bear on the forest, and let loose a barrage of shots, targeting anything that looked like it was moving. The weapon was as spectacular as ever - blowing chunks out of the larger trees, felling small saplings completely and giving a most satisfactory barrage of light and noise. A few projectiles continued to whirr high above their position for the first minute or two but soon ceased.
Carson had not pulled the handgun that John had given him - a quick glance revealed the crouching physician was hugging himself close, skin far too pale, eyes looking glazed. He was not bothering to stop the rain, that was dripping from his soggy fringe, from running into his eyes - he looked like he was about to pass out.
John continued to lay a steady, widespread fire until he felt that nothing in the vicinity could have remained undamaged, and wound down.
Silence fell, only the odd branch still crashing to the ground, and the steady drip of rain through the tree canopy could be heard. Sheppard watched the forest every sense alert.
“I wonder what they were firing at us? I've outrun spear, bullet, arrow, even energy beam in the Pegasus Galaxy but not anything that sounded like that.”
“Crossbow.” Carson muttered tightly.
“I thought your line was I'm a medical doctor not a ... cultural anthropologist?” Sheppard quipped, eyes fixed on the trees.
When Carson did not respond he risked another glance to the side. His friend was slumping sideways, mouth slack, eyes closed, to land in the soft moss where he lay motionless.
“Shit! Carson!” Sheppard swore. He looked back across the clearing into the trees - there had been no movement, no sound, except that of the falling rain for five minutes now. The rain was beginning to increase in intensity, to the point where a steady stream of water was running from his hair into his eyes.
Every sense now told John that they were alone - the “Pointies” had retreated. He confirmed that with the detector - he could take a chance. He placed Ronon's gun on top of the tree trunk and quickly knelt at Carson's side, sliding a hand beneath his left shoulder to turn him on his back.
His hand met something hard, at the same time he could now see an ominous spreading stain across the front of the dirty uniform. In the middle was an object that should not be there. John gently touched the damp red patch to encounter a sharp point - parting Beckett's jacket showed him the dreadful truth.
A crossbow bolt had pierced Carson's shoulder - the point emerged at the front, the shaft a few inches behind.
No wonder the hunters had retreated, they must have known that they had hit one of the fleeing men. They could afford to retreat before the rain, knowing they could resume the chase later. John was numb, frozen in the face of a new disaster. But it was for only the merest micro-second that the shock overwhelmed him, then his ability to take action pushed all other thoughts and fears away. Quickly he was reviewing options - the options all sucked.
~SGA~
An hour later John was placing the last of the fronds of forest leaves in place, careful to arrange them so that the rain ran easily down the hastily built shelter.
He had half carried, half dragged Carson as far as a rock outcrop with a slight overhang that gave a little bit of cover from the continuous falling rain. He had laid his friend carefully down on dry leaf litter before beginning to construct a shelter.
At last he was nearly done. Carson still lay insensible, covered by John's jacket and clothes. John was working stripped to the waist, Ronon's gun holstered on his leg, trying to ignore the chill rain running ceaselessly across his skin.
This had been the first action that he had decided upon - he had used the field dressings, that he carried, to stop the bleeding as best he could - he knew better than to try to remove the bolt. Carson would most likely bleed out fast far from aid if he did. Then he had tried to get him out of the rain.
John now ducked inside the cave of branches that he had created to check on Beckett's condition. He had tried not to jolt him when placing him on the ground but Carson had awoken with a groan of pain. John had hated to see the agony in those blue eyes.
“John,” Carson had tried to speak, “John, I.....” He had struggled to say more and could not.
John had felt sure that he was going to tell him to leave again, to get out of there and so had hushed him to silence by giving him some water.
“I've packed the wound and stopped the bleeding - the bolt has to stay in for now, that's right isn't it Doc?”
Carson had just nodded, too weak to do any more.
“I'm just going to work on the next part of my plan for getting us out of here.”
But Beckett's eyes had slid shut. John had felt his skin - the fever was burning within, the surface was clammy with sweat and rain. The man in front of him was in trouble.
Jon had reviewed his options thoroughly. They were too far from the gate to make it on foot with Carson the way he was. The fierce drumming of the rain was beginning to lessen, the natives would catch them with ease.
They could surrender in order to get medical aid but he knew the result of that. One quick scan, and the most likely outcome would be a bullet in the head for Carson, and he would find himself crippled and enslaved.
Reach the gate by himself to contact Atlantis? No, he would never leave Carson behind, never take that chance.
So there was only one course of action left, he would take the fight to them.
~SGA~
John retrieved his jacket and kevlar. Reloaded all of his supplies and armament except for one gun and a water bottle, that he carefully placed in Carson's reach. He took the gate crystals from his pocket and tucked them into a flap on Carson's jacket. Then he tried to make his friend as comfortable as possible.
John checked him carefully. The bleeding had stopped. The rain had mostly dried from his skin but his face was clammy and pale. Carson was totally unresponsive to John running his fingers through his limp hair.
John Sheppard paused. He was at a moment of stillness between the bouts of action that helped him to cope with his strange and dangerous life. And the feeling that he allowed to well up at this moment was one of despair. He had tried so hard, for so long, to the very best of his ability and it was possibly not going to be enough.
He was risking everything on a desperate gamble - if it went wrong he might never see Beckett again, alive or dead. Here in this desolate place there was no one to see John's fears, his emotions.
Carson seemed deeply unconscious, his breathing shallow.
John gathered the man before him gently in his arms and laid a kiss upon his forehead - a whispered goodbye, a soft murmur of how he felt. A tear damp cheek was laid against one that was unnaturally warm. There were no witnesses and no-one would ever know.
And then he went softly into the rain without a backward glance.
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