slashing_lorne | FIC: "Left Behind" by tarapierson McKay/Lorne

Title: “Left Behind”
Author:

tarapierson (Marie Whi Mitshue)
Pairing: McKay/Lorne
Rating: R maybe.
Disclaimer: If they were mine? Nobody else would be allowed near ‘em. So they are obviously not mine! I’m just borrowing them, I swear.
Warning: violence, some blood, angst, some swear words, character death (?)
Summary: He awoke in the infirmary, screaming Rodney’s name
Notes: UNBETAED. Just a short, angst piece. Possibly, there will be a sequel. Possibly not. Cross-posted at

mckay_lorne,

atlantis_slash &

slashing_lorne. Something quickly wrote to try and shake the little case of writer's block that seems to have ambushed me. So this may suck. Sorry.

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There were screams and blood and before the darkness leaped upon him with razored claws of agony, he has one last, still, snapshot image of Rodney McKay. Rodney falling to his knees, muzzle flash and weapons blasts lighting up the night air around him like festival lights, hands pressed to his stomach, a startled, shocked look on his face and crimson spilling out of him like a fucking river.

He awoke in the infirmary, screaming Rodney’s name, and all he needed to see was Colonel Sheppard, unconscious and bruised, in the next bed over, and the looks on Doctor Beckett’s wan, distressed face, on Elizabeth Weir’s pale, tight face, where she stood near the end of his bed. Doctor Zelenka was in a seat against the wall opposite, and he looked like someone ripped the guts out of him, staring down at his hands blindly. Ronon was pacing on the other side of Sheppard’s bed, looking like a raging lion about to pounce, and Telya makes a sorrowful, graceful figure, sitting beside the colonel’s bed.

Rodney was gone.

Rodney was gone.

Rodney was gone, and he barely heard them explain how the colonel took a hit that broke several ribs, an arm, and fractured his skull. How Rodney had been shot, how he himself had caught a ricochet and Ronon had managed to grab him when he fell, wounded, but no one had made it to Rodney, several feet away, on his knees in the middle of the town square, before the dart passed above and the culling beam swept him up and away. How the raiding darts had zoomed out through the stargate and no one had been near enough to the DHD to see the co-ordinates. How he’s been unconscious for long, long hours and there was no hope anymore that Rodney wasn’t fed upon and killed long ago.

Rodney, gut shot, then beamed away to become a meal for the Wraith. The best they can hope is that he died of his wound before the Wraith could feed upon him.

Rodney was gone, and all the good memories, all the ones he knows he must have of Rodney whole and unharmed, seem to have been stolen away, leaving only the last frozen image of Rodney on his knees, blood coating his hands at his belly, soaking his uniform dark, face stark and pale and surprised.

Leaving only the aching, hollow pain that was carving a hole right through the middle of his soul, crying out for Rodney. Leaving only burning, bitter regret and aching, desperate sorrow that he’d never told the scientist just how much he cared for him, just how much he loved him. How he let the fucking regs and rules keep him silent and now he was choking on that silence.

Nicholas Lorne buried his face in his battered and bruised hands, uncaring of the people around him, and wept for the loss of the man he loved.
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End – Continue? Or not?
I’m a terrible, horrible person, who apparently loves torturing Rodney. Yes, I have said this before.