jadesfire | Fic: Port Call

Title: Port Call

Author:

jadesfire2808
Words: ~3,600
Genre: Gen, AU. With a side order of Crack.
Rating: PG
Notes: This is a pinch-hit for

chensuu as part of the Fall 2008 Genfic Exchange at

sgahcchallenges. It's also my costume for the Come as You Aren't Party over at

karaokegal's.

With thanks to my flist for constant patience with my obvious insanity and constant yelling of "PIRATES!" Also to

travels_in_time for inventing a new emoticon especially for this fic: \o? [he has a hook!]. Also to

miss_zedem for endless encouragement,

nightdog_barks for a link that lost me 2 hours of my life to research (time well spent),

greyias and

xparrot for nitpicking, and

pwcorgigirl for the title. *checks* I think that's everyone... ETA: Nope, it wasn't. Thanks to

becky_h for the prompt that sparked the whole damn thing in the first place :)

Summary: Port Call. Being the True and Factual Account of the Adventures of Rodney McKay, Genius, and his Encounters with those Fearsome Criminals of the Pirate Ship Wraith. John Sheppard was also there.

Port Call

It wasn't the first time someone had threatened Rodney in his own workshop, and there was a reason he didn't keep the pistols loaded. This was, however, the first time someone had managed to time their threatening so that he was actually testing the new frizzen spring and therefore the gun that was being waved in front of his nose was actually loaded. He was close enough to actuallysee a of scrap of wadding and made a mental note to check that Radek was filing down the insides of the barrels properly.

"Hands in the air," the gun-wielder growled, although the threat was somewhat undercut by the way his hands were shaking and his face was turning a striking shade of white.

"Look," Rodney said, folding his arms and glaring, "this is a really bad idea."

"Shut up." Keeping the pistol pointed as best he could, the man took a few steps backwards until he bumped into a low workbench. Rodney winced as he dropped onto it, partly because the man's face was now going worryingly green, and partly because he didn't think the delicate mechanism he'd been working on would have survived the impact. "Now," his captor said, breathing hard but managing to keep the gun pointing roughly at Rodney, "I need clean water and bandages, and whatever alcohol you have lying around here."

"If it's that bad, go to Carson Beckett," Rodney snapped. "I'm an inventor, not a doctor."

"And I'm a pirate." The expression was probably supposed to be an evil grin, or possibly a snarl, but it came out as a grimace. The man's eyes were wide and glassy, and spots of color were appearing on his now-pale-again face. He looked somewhere between drunk and delirious, and Rodney had really had enough.

"You're not a pirate," he said, taking one careful step forwards. "Well. Not technically. You've got those letters from the government that mean you're a legal privateer and everything, although personally I have a hard time telling the difference."

"What?" Apparently realizing that he'd let the gun waver, the man tried to swing it back towards Rodney, but his hand was shaking too badly and it slipped from his grasp. "I don't-"

"John." At the sound of his name, the man looked up sharply. A little too sharply, it turned out, as he lost his balance and tumbled backwards off the bench.

Rodney sighed. There was three weeks' of work all bent out of shape, and now Captain John Sheppard was bleeding all over the floor of his workshop.

It was going to be one of those days.

It took considerable effort to drag Sheppard to Rodney's bedroom at the back of the workshop, leaving a trail of red drops along the way. Sheppard's shirt was soaked through on one side and Rodney sat him on the floor while he put a very old blanket on the bed.

"Remind me again why I let you do this to me?" he muttered, trying to get a grip under Sheppard's shoulders and dragging a weak cry out of him as he hauled him onto the bed.

When he finally managed to disentangle Sheppard from his acres of shirt, he grimaced at the wound. There was plenty of dried blood around it already, although it was oozing more, bright red over the dull rust of the old.

"Wonderful." Muttering to himself as he went to fetch some clean water and his last bottle of the fire-water that Radek was so fond of, Rodney wondered who the hell Sheppard had upset this time. He had a knack for saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, and it was only a matter of time before one of them decided to use their knife instead of their fists.

When he came back, Sheppard's eyes were open, and he was trying to sit up, hissing as the movement pulled at his side.

"Wha-" he began, head turning towards Rodney but obviously not really seeing him.

"Lie down," Rodney said brusquely, setting the water on the nightstand and pressing gently on Sheppard's shoulder. "This is going to hurt."

It was actually almost a relief to have Sheppard half-glare at him, even if the effect was spoiled by the yelp of pain as Rodney began to wash off the blood, first with water, then with some of the alcohol.

"Careful." Sheppard's speech was slurring a little, and he waved a hand weakly as though that would fend Rodney off.

"Yeah, right. If you really wanted someone with a good bedside manner, you should have gone to Beckett."

"Couldn't," Sheppard muttered, his eyes closing. "Too many people."

"What?" The more blood Rodney cleaned from Sheppard's side, the more his cloth seemed to come away red. That couldn't be good.

At first he thought Sheppard had passed out again, then he heard a low mutter.

"Wraith."

Rodney dropped the cloth. "The Wraith is in port? You're telling me that you came ashore knowing the crew was here? And then you got into a fight with them?"

"Not on purpose."

"And you came here?" Rodney was on his feet now because this was bad. This was very, very bad. "They're savages! I heard that when they run low on provisions they come ashore and eat people! What the hell were you thinking-"

"Rodney…"

"-coming here? Do they know you're here? Did you see anyone? Were you followed? Do you know if you were followed? Did you see anyone- Wait, why am I asking Mr Delirious?"

"Captain Delirious." Sheppard was trying to sit up again, looking around and reaching out for his shirt. "And I have no idea. I wasn't exactly thinking straight."

"Right, because you're so clear-headed right now." Tugging the shirt out of reach, Rodney pushed Sheppard back down on the bed. "Lie down and at least stop bleeding all over my sheets before you go all heroic on me."

For a moment he thought Sheppard was going to argue again, so he just picked up one of the clean strips of linen he'd brought in with him and pressed it against the wound. Of course, he still knew it was angry and inflamed under the make-shift bandage, but not being able to see it was better somehow.

"Hold that there," he said, waiting for Sheppard to do so before reaching for the discarded shirt. "I don't have anything long enough to bind it in place."

"McKay, don't you dare-"

"Oh shut up. Saving your life here." He'd have to avoid the part with the bloodstains, but at least he knew the shirt actually went all the way round Sheppard. "Looks like your choice of clothing might actually be useful for once."

"What's wrong with my choice of clothing?" His eyes closed again, Sheppard frowned, then winced as Rodney began to tear his shirt into strips.

"Oh please. There's more cloth here than in Atlantis' mainsail." Rodney laid two strips on the bed, and tried to work out where to tear next. "And let's not even start on your hair."

"You're right. Let's not." Sighing a little, Sheppard let Rodney manhandle him upright and held the padding in place as Rodney started to bandage him up. His head drooped forwards, his hair was coming loose from its ribbon, and his skin was still far too pale, but he smiled a little as Rodney tied off the first cotton strip. "Thanks, McKay."

"Yes, well. Let's just hope your crew find you before the crew of the Wraith do, shall we?"

Sheppard opened his eyes a crack and peered hopefully at the bottle Rodney had dropped at the foot of the bed. "I'll drink to that."

It was a long night. Rodney worked by oil lamp, perched on the end of the bed and occasionally getting kicked by Sheppard as he struggled with the fever. He talked constantly, cursing in his more lucid moments and muttering nonsensically in his more delirious ones. After some internal wrestling, Rodney had decided to stay and sit it out, rather than try to get help. Sheppard was right about that, at least: if they got anyone else involved, it would be bringing the crew of the Wraith down on them, and even Rodney wasn't prepared to put that on his conscience.

Of course, he also wasn't encouraged that Sheppard's own crew hadn't managed to find him yet, not that Rodney had really expected them to. They were the ones who came to him for his pistols and his muskets and other cunning devices, not the other way round. Expecting cunning from that lot was like expecting a cat to recite the alphabet. Still, it would have been nice if Teyla had been in town, to give at least some moral support if nothing else.

Just before dawn, Sheppard stirred from what had been a deep, silent sleep. Rodney, who'd just dozed off himself, woke suddenly as Sheppard kicked him in the head.

"Ow."

"Sorry." Sheppard's eyes were open, clear and focused for the first time since he'd arrived at Rodney's workshop and snatched up the loaded pistol.

"I'm sure you are." Straightening up, Rodney winced as his back clicked loudly. "Remind me never to have you as a house-guest again." He squinted at Sheppard in the dim light. "How do you feel?"

"Tired." Sheppard scrubbed a hand over his face, blinking a little. "I can't stay here."

"And this is only occurring to you now?"

"I wasn't exactly thinking clearly earlier on."

Before Rodney could say anything about Sheppard's usual mental abilities, there was a loud banging from the front of the house, as though someone was trying to beat the workshop door down.

"Sheppard!"

"Wraith-men," Sheppard said, as though Rodney couldn't have worked that out for himself.

Already on his feet and trying to stuff them into his boots, Rodney tried to glare at him. It was difficult, what with all the panic rising up in him. "What are we going to do?"

"First of all, you're going to help me up." For someone who'd been at death's door not eight hours ago, Sheppard sounded remarkably calm. "Then, we're going to find something to fight with."

"Fight with!" He was probably squeaking at this point, but Rodney didn't really care. "Do you really think just the two of us can-"

"Then," Sheppard said firmly, as the front door rattled again, "we're going to find somewhere to hide."

Right. Hide. That was good. Except-

"Wait, where are we going to hide?" Rodney asked, grabbing Sheppard's hand and pulling him to his feet.

Listing a little but just about staying upright, Sheppard wrapped his hand around Rodney's arm for balance and shook his head. "How should I know? You tell me!"

"Oh, well, some great strategist you are."

"Rodney. It's your house."

"Oh. Yes. Right. Well, it's good thing you've got me to do you thinking for you, isn't it?. Come on."

Because it wasn't possible to be too heavily armed against the crew of the Wraith, Rodney insisted that they share their hiding place with two large muskets. Each would only give them one shot, but at close range, that shot would take a man's head off. That would probably be enough to stop the Wraith-men. Probably.

Sheppard was drenched in sweat, soaking his bandages and Rodney's shirt where they were pressed together in the eaves of the house. He was probably bleeding on him too. Apparently it wasn't enough for Sheppard to ruin his own shirts; he had to start on Rodney's as well.

Below them, Rodney winced as he heard the front door splintering, closely followed by heavy footsteps. Sheppard was peering down into the room below, squinting a little. It wasn't a great hiding place, just a cubby-hole where Rodney had nailed up some boards to create a viewing platform for his telescope, but it would do. Even if Sheppard was hogging the only way to see into the workshop. He shook his head when Rodney nudged him, which wasn't fair but was probably reasonable. They couldn't exactly switch places in these close quarters, and Rodney wasn't entirely sure he wanted to see what those animals were doing to his workshop.

There was much shouting from below, and the occasional heavy thump that Rodney assumed was overturned furniture.

"Sheppard!" someone yelled, making Rodney jump and Sheppard hiss in a breath as his side was jarred. "We know you're here, Sheppard! Come on out, and we'll make it easier on you."

"There's six of them," Sheppard muttered, but Rodney really didn't care about that right now. What was concerning him more was the sheer rage he could hear in the Wraith-man's voice.

"What the hell did you do?" he whispered, keeping his voice as low as he could. There was no way Sheppard hadn't heard him, though, and Rodney kept up his steady stare until Sheppard shifted and whispered, equally quietly,

"I might have – accidentally, of course – somehow managed to…" he swallowed, winced, then said, "I think I broke their Queen."

If it hadn't been for Sheppard's hand which instantly clapped over his mouth, Rodney probably would have yelled loud enough to give away their location to the whole town, let alone the men below. Because the one thing you didn't do, if you knew anything about the Wraith, was insult, damage or otherwise interfere with their ship's figurehead. It was bad luck to do that to any ship. To do it to the Wraith was suicide.

"It was an accident!" Sheppard hissed, glancing back down into the room below. "It was dark, I was coming ashore in the Jumper, and how was I supposed to know they were removing her for repairs. The damn ship's like a ghost anyway, and they didn't see me until the last minute and-"

There were two things Rodney hadn't though of when choosing their hiding place. One was that John Sheppard was a complete and total idiot. The other was that, in a confined space where you couldn't really move your arms properly, there was no way to fire a musket.

He and Sheppard turned very, very slowly towards the grinning face that was peering into their hidey-hole. It made a noise somewhere between a hiss and a laugh, making Rodney jump and Sheppard yell as Rodney's hand made contact with his side. Apparently as startled as they were, the Wraith-man drew back, losing his balance and falling back to the floor below.

Taking advantage of their temporary freedom, Sheppard grabbed one of the muskets and slid along the roof beam, aiming and firing quickly. The sound nearly made Rodney lose his balance, but he reached for the other musket automatically, passing it to Sheppard and taking the empty one back. It would make a good club if nothing else. Carefully, he began to climb down from the eaves, almost falling when Sheppard fired again.

There was too much shouting now to really tell what was going on, and Rodney reacted more on instinct than anything else when a huge Wraith-man loomed out of the shadows towards him. The stock of the musket connected with the giant's head with a sickening thud, and he spun a full three-hundred and sixty five degrees before crashing to the ground. Rodney turned, triumphantly, just in time to see Sheppard fall from the roof beam.

It probably didn't help much that he landed on one of the Wraith-men, and Rodney hoped that the horrible cracking sound hadn't been Sheppard's neck. There was no time to think about that, though, because one of the other men was now coming towards Rodney, and he doubted the same approach would work twice. Turning, he jumped over the first man's body, running back towards his bedroom. Apparently he was spending too much time with Sheppard, because by the time he got there, he had a plan.

Which was good, because the Wraith-man was actually in the room by the time Rodney got hold of the still-lit oil lamp and threw it back in the direction of the doorway. It wasn't a big room, and even Rodney couldn't miss from so close proximity, but it probably wouldn't have worked if the lamp hadn't been one of his own design, with an oil reservoir big enough to keep the wick aflame for two days and nights. There was just time to cover his face as the oil showered over the Wraith-man, and he heard the distinctive whump-whoosh of cloth catching fire.

He shouldered the screaming man aside, batting out the tiny flames on his own shirt as he headed back to the workroom, which was worryingly quiet. Pausing in the doorway, he tried to get his breath back. All this excitement was going to his head and he had to hold onto the frame to keep himself upright. It took him a few seconds to really focus on the room, and when he did, it was enough to drive the euphoria of his victories from his mind.

Four Wraith-men lay around the room, unconscious or dead, Rodney really didn't care. Added to the one who was still screaming in Rodney's bedroom, that only left one upright and dangerous.

Unfortunately, that one was leaning over Sheppard, who was half-leaning against Rodney's workbench, his face a mask of pain and his side covered in blood. Again.

"That is the last time, Sheppard," the Wraith-man hissed, and he sounded more furious than even Rodney had expected. Either the Queen really did mean as much to the Wraith as was rumored, or this wasn't the only thing Sheppard had done to anger them. Knowing Sheppard, Rodney was guessing the latter.

"Well, if you will keep getting in my way…" Sheppard began, then broke off coughing and groaning as the Wraith-man kicked him in the ribs.

"I am going to enjoy eating your heart," he said, smiling as Sheppard slumped further down, almost falling onto his injured side.

"Not today." Sheppard's hand came up and round, pointing a pistol right into the Wraith-man's face.

Who just laughed. "None of these pistols are loaded. We already know this. You will not escape us this time, Sheppard."

"Wrong again," Sheppard said. And fired.

"You know," Rodney said sometime later, when they'd called some soldiers from the Athos garrison to take away the bodies, and Rodney had put out the fire on his bed, and Sheppard's crew had finally managed to track down their wayward captain, and Teyla had offered to put Rodney up at her tavern for a few days until he could get a new mattress, and had offered to put Sheppard up until he was fit to travel, "that really shouldn't have worked."

"Huh?" Sheppard was lying on the room's other bed, looking surprisingly at peace with the world for a man who'd brought the wrath of the Wraith down on himself.

"Well, the pistol had been lying there all night, and even if it was only half-cocked, I'm surprised there was enough powder in the pan for you to get it to light."

Sheppard shrugged, then winced. "Just lucky, I guess."

"Lucky. Right. Funnily enough, that's not the first word that comes to mind when I think of you." Rodney's own bed wasn't a patch on his special mattress that he'd had brought in specially from Spanish Town, but it would do for now. He was just starting to get comfortable when Sheppard said,

"You know they'll be after you too, right?"

"What?" Feeling as though someone had just doused him with cold water, Rodney sat up and stared at Sheppard. "What are you talking about?"

"You killed two of their crew, McKay. How'd you think they're going to take that?"

"It was self-defense!" Rodney squeaked, his head spinning. This was so not fair. "You don't really think-"

"Oh well," Sheppard said, putting his hands behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankles, "I'm sure if you tell them it was self-defense, they'll forget all about it."

"Do you think so?"

"No."

Rodney gripped the sheets. This was terrible. This was a disaster. He still had so much he wanted to do! He'd bought that telescope at considerable expense, and he'd barely had the chance to use it. Humanity was going to be denied considerable scientific breakthroughs just because-

"It's alright," Sheppard told him, turning his head and winking – actually winking – in his general direction. "You can always come with us."

The end?

Page 1 of 2 << [1] [2] >>

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

azure-chaos.livejournal.com

*giggles madly* love it, well done. mmmm pirate John. *grins*

nate

From:

Links

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags