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"This is...all your...fault," Kavanagh exclaimed, panting harshly as he raced through the woods, pushing off trees, leaping fallen branches, and hoping beyond all hope that there would be nothing beneath each frantic step to twist or break an ankle. In the distance he could hear the angry shouts of the villagers, visualizing the sharpened spears and machetes held in white-knuckled hands as they chased after them. Ahead of him by a few paces was John Sheppard, self-proclaimed super-genius of two galaxies, though Peter Kavanagh would happily add and biggest pain in the ass too.
Yes, Sheppard was a mathematical genius, able to manipulate figures as if his brain was some computerized number cruncher but in every other way the man was a liability. Why Rod doted over the man by putting him onto the prime gate team was completely beyond Peter. Rod could have had his choice of scientists and military and yet he'd chosen to lead a rag-tag group of misfits instead that included the most annoying man on Atlantis.
Thoughts of Rod had him glancing back over his shoulder as he ran, caught between being grateful that Rod was covering his back and fear that Rod would be the first to fall beneath the wrath of the villagers. Atlantis couldn't afford to lose such an amazing mind especially as Peter still had so much to learn from the man. Working alongside McKay was almost as prestigious as being in Atlantis, the long fabled Lost City of the Ancients.
"Keep...eyes ahead!"
He looked forward again at Rod's harried command, almost stumbling over more fallen branches and kicking up a spray of golden and bronze leaves that fluttered down behind him. He worried about that for a moment but then decided that a headlong plunge through the woods was going to leave a trail that even he could follow anyway. Ahead of him, Sheppard was starting to slow, one hand pushing against his middle where blood seeped through his fingers. Peter had caught up with him after another twenty feet, cursing under his labored breath but barely slowing as he wrapped an arm around Sheppard's middle, forcing Sheppard's arm over his shoulder. It took a few moments and then Rod was on Sheppard's other side, one arm slinging around the man's waist while the other kept hold of his hand gun. Together they found the right rhythm as they raced from beneath the canopy of trees onto a golden meadow, tall grass bowing and breaking before them as they put on an extra burst of speed when the Stargate came into view.
"Take him! I'll dial," Rod ordered, dropping away to cover the last thirty feet at a punishing speed while Peter supported Sheppard alone. By the time they reached the DHD, three of the chevrons had encoded and the fourth flashed into life. Peter missed seeing the captivating plume of the opening wormhole, his attention taken up by the increased screams and yells coming from behind as the villagers reached the edge of the woods and raced towards them, faces red and tight with anger.
"Go! Go!" Rod yelled and they raced up the pedestal steps amid the clatter of spears bouncing off the stone and off the Stargate itself.
A horrific pain in the side of his leg brought him down only a few feet from the event horizon, Sheppard falling with him but rolling straight on through. Strong arms caught at his and Peter screamed in agony as he was dragged up the final step and across the small stone platform, barely registering the strange sensation of the wormhole before collapsing to the familiar marbled floor of the Atlantis gate room. In shocked detachment, he wondered why he had never looked this closely at it before because it was beautiful, but that thought was ripped away by fresh agony as a medical crew descended upon him. The last thing he saw before passing out was Rod's equally beautiful blue eyes just above him, telling him he did good and that everything would be fine.
Peter awoke in the infirmary, guessing the time from the dimmed lights and muted noise around him to be mid-evening. A rustle of movement had him turning his head to find Rod slumped asleep in an uncomfortable chair beside his bed. For one ecstatic moment he thought Rod's presence was for him alone, and then he glanced up and met Sheppard's gaze, the hazel-green eyes no longer hidden behind the thick lenses of skewed glasses.
"I hardly think it was all my fault," Sheppard drawled softly, obviously not wanting to awaken Rod but intent on carrying on with a shouting match that had started on the planet as they ran for their lives. "You were the one who convinced Dr. Jackson those people were friendly."
Peter drew in a breath of quiet outrage. "They were friendly until you insulted their high priestess and defiled their temple!" He whispered harshly.
"You're the anthropologist, Kavanagh. You should have warned us about the bugs."
In an equally teeth-gritted response, "I did warn you about the bugs but you were too busy maligning my entire department to listen...as usual."
"I hate bugs. You know I hate bugs."
"Everyone in two galaxies knows you hate bugs, Sheppard, which is why I warned you not to touch the cartouche."
"No, you didn't," he softly sing-songed and Peter wished he could punch Sheppard on the nose because this was all his fault.
"Yes, I did," he sniped back.
The Maiean--and yes, he and Rod had already debated the possibility that Earth's Mayans had derived their name from these people, possibly given to them by one of the Ancients who'd returned to Earth to escape the Wraith ten thousand years earlier. The Maiean had welcomed the initial first contact team--of which Peter had been a part--with open arms, more than happy to discuss trade with Major Cadman and history with him. They had even given him access to their temple, an Ancient relaxation facility, without requesting any bizarre rituals. That was where Peter had seen the writing on the wall, quite literally, and a quick translation had revealed the possibility that this facility had been powered by a ZPM. There was only one true way to find out and that was to bring Rod to the facility.
Rod was one of those amazing scientists that excelled at everything he touched, somehow managing to combine a love for physics with anthropology. As far as Peter was concerned, Rod had a poet's soul wrapped around a mathematician's brain, translating articles within the Ancient database on Atlantis far easier than even Dr. Jackson. The Ancients had captured their love of mathematics within the very fabric of their society, letting it infiltrate all aspects of their daily lives, from the gleaming spires of Atlantis itself and the filigree workmanship in their architecture to the flowery prose that formed even their most basic instructional devices. Rod understood them and Peter had been more than happy to share in his work, sometimes spending hours with Rod discussing possible meanings, but his own lack of mathematical ability had hindered him. Sheppard was the antithesis of him, being mathematically inclined but possessing no linguistic and social skills.
No doubt, that was why Rod had insisted on both of them going to the Maiean temple, believing they would balance out each other's strengths and weaknesses.
If Sheppard had not had a massive panic attack after pressing the cartouche that released a sickly scent of blossoms into the air, grabbing the high priestess's ceremonial fly swatter and attacking the sacred bugs attracted by the scent, then maybe they'd be sitting down to an evening meal of delicious honey-roasted pig-like thing right now.
"Didn't, and I should know as, unlike some people I'd prefer not to mention." He gave Peter a pointed look, "I have an exceptional memory, and I distinctly recall no mention of bugs."
"Will you two just shut up?" Rod moaned from his seat.
Peter felt his teeth click together as he shut his mouth too forcefully, and glared at Sheppard, blaming him for disturbing Rod's sleep.
"This was all my fault." Rod stated. "I should have taken note of the bugs at the meeting, and I should have insisted on Teyla and Ronon accompanying us." He grimaced before looking to Peter with compassion. "How's the leg? Carson insisted it was just a graze...but it needed five stitches."
Now that Rod had mentioned it, his thigh did ache. "A little sore but..." Peter shrugged, not wanting to pile any more guilt onto Rod's shoulders.
"How about the side, Sheppard?" Rod asked.
"Stings like a bitch, and no doubt it's going to scar."
"All the girls love an interesting scar," Rod stated with a confident grin that encompassed them both and set his eyes sparkling, chasing away the shadows lying there only moments before. Rod pushed to his feet and brought a hand down on both of their shoulders, squeezing gently.
Under the power of that bright smile, Peter lost the will to carry on fighting with Sheppard. Perhaps he and Sheppard might never see eye to eye over their respective scientific fields, even though Peter had once toyed with the idea of becoming a mechanical engineer. Instead he had chosen to focus on people rather than machines, and on human rather than computer languages, earning his place on this great adventure to the lost city of the Ancients.
He had found his life's work here, a home and a sense of belonging with a diverse new family. Apart from Sheppard, the occasional Wraith siege, and running for his life from angry natives, he wouldn't change a thing.
As Rod's smile and touch lingered just a fraction longer on Sheppard, Peter saw a chink in Sheppard's arrogant mask, seeing behind it to a softer core. He realized then that they both adored Rod in similar and yet very different ways, both loved this city and the life they had discovered here.
Maybe he wouldn't change Sheppard after all.
END