Title: Blue As the Sky
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Rating: PG (for now)
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Summary: AU. Upon the Sands of Athos, a man's life is only worth as much water as he carries. Rodney McKay's canteen was bone dry.

Notes: Based upon this doodle by tardis80 and originally posted as comment fic. For those of you who saw the first three parts there, some small changes (ie a word or two here and there) have been made but it's basically the same. Also, WIP. :-P


~-~-~ Part One: Under A Harsh Sun ~-~-~

The sun beat down harshly upon their unprotected necks, turning delicate skin red as blood. They had been wandering for days, lost within the endless dunes of the Sands of Athos. Their beasts of burden, just as unsuited to the desert life as their pale masters, had not survived the previous day’s toil and the men of this ill-fated expedition were not faring much better. Without water, they would be dead by nightfall.

The leader of this small group was all too aware of their impending demise, but what could he do? He had been chosen to head this half of the expedition by dint of his astounding intelligence, but he was personally of the opinion that they would have been better served by a trained monkey. At least the animal would have had some instinct for survival, even displaced as it might be. Rodney McKay, doctor of the sciences and prodigy of Ancient artifacts, had led his people into a death trap.

It was only a few hours past dawn, the sun not yet at the apex of its arc across the sky, and already the heat was nearly unbearable. They would need to find shelter soon, to conserve what little moisture was left in their bodies. McKay looked to Radek Zelenka, his second, two pairs of blue eyes meeting in solemn agreement. There was always the possibility that an oasis lay beyond the next dune, but there was no chance they would make it that far under the unrelenting glare. Little Miko, her porcelain skin blistered, was nearly delirious from heat stroke and even Kavanaugh, his unbound long hair providing some slight cover, could barely walk a straight line.

McKay was about to give the terse order to set up the light tent they had managed to salvage from their abandoned gear when a high-pitched whistle stopped them all in their tracks. A startled look to Zelenka confirmed it wasn’t an auditory hallucination and they searched about them. It was Simpson who spotted the source with a wordless cry. McKay looked to where she pointed, the tip of one tall dune. Silhouetted against the azure sky were several strange beasts, extraordinarily tall and multi-limbed. It took his befuddled brain a moment to realize they were riders upon horses. The sweep of his tongue was painful over cracked lips as he tried to work up enough lubrication for his words. It took three tries before he could speak above a whisper and in the end, he settled for waving an arm wildly over his head, several others parroting his motions. Miko swayed in the non-existent breeze without Parrish’s support as the man sank to the sand, sobbing dryly.

“Oh, god, thank you,” McKay managed to breathe while Zelenka offered up similar praise in his own language as the horses picked their way delicately down the shifting sands. The riders were all dressed alike, swathed head to toe in light, bleached fabrics. They could have been wrapped in the tanned skins of their enemies for all McKay cared, as long as they had water to share.

One man, and McKay assumed as much, for it was impossible to tell the gender under all the protective clothing, brought his horse ahead of the others. He stared down at McKay, only a shadowed strip of skin to be seen above his scarf and below his turban. He tilted his head in query and McKay obliged. “Please,” he begged, voice rough with sand and fever, “We’re lost, need water. My people…” He stepped forward, feet heavy. They had walked for three days but only now, with rescue at hand, did the full of his fatigue crash upon him. He fell to his knees as vertigo threatened, still managing to keep his gaze steady upon the nomads’ leader. “Please,” Rodney repeated, waving a hand behind him, “My people, they need water. I’ll give you anything you want, just… Help us.”

Those eyes – were they light? were they dark? – studied him intently from the dusky depths. Then, decision made, the rider inclined his head and made a sharp gesture with his hand and the three riders behind him dismounted. Had there been more a moment ago or less? McKay couldn’t remember.

He shook his head as the smallest of the riders pressed a waterskin to his parched lips. “No, Miko first,” he whispered, because how hadn’t they noticed, he and Radek, that their canteens had never been quite as empty as they should, that she had given them her own water while they napped fitfully until there was none left. If he felt only a few steps away from Death’s door, she must already have one foot across that threshold.

“Your people are being tended to.” The softly muffled but definitely feminine voice of his caretaker was liquid to McKay’s ears after days of dry rasps. He looked over his shoulder and saw each member of his team had their own water-bearing savior, with four more mounted riders in the distance. ‘Oh, there they are,’ his brain supplied helpfully, with a small reminder that maybe he should be panicking at being surrounded by armed and potentially hostile natives. But then there was cool, mint-flavored water flowing over his tongue, the half forgotten sensation overriding any instincts of self-preservation.

It was only after several mouthfuls, only enough to wet his throat, not enough to completely slake his thirst that Rodney turned his attention back to the leader. “What now?” he managed to ask steadily. It hadn’t passed his notice that all of these people were armed heavily with swords, knives, and pistols while his own people were helpless even at the best of times. He stayed on his knees, staring up, not out of fear, but because of the effort it would have taken to stand. If they had wanted him dead, they simply would have just withheld their water.

McKay could have sworn those eyes of indeterminate color crinkled at the corners in a smirk as the woman next to him declared, “Now you must come with us. Please, do not resist.”

“Oh, yes, because in my present condition I’m so likely to be able to jump you,” he snapped, but it was without his usual rancor. Even so, it took more energy than he had. He could only watch numbly as nimble hands bound his wrists together, dimly aware of Radek’s sleepy protest behind him. The blindfold was a bit much and he told them so, but really, it felt good to be able to close his eyes, the tight skin of his cheeks relaxing from his perpetual squint. Then he was being lifted, strong hands steady around his waist before the world settled into a gentle rocking motion.

...to be continued...
Part Two