Series: Moments Sacred and Profane

Title: MSP4: The Space Between Breaths

Author: Mice

email: just_us_mice@yahoo.com

Category: Stargate: Atlantis, McKay/Beckett

Warnings: slash, angst, hurt/comfort

Spoilers: none

Rating: R - language, adult situations

Summary: Wildfire separates Rodney and Carson from the Gate team. When a medical emergency strikes, the situation could be fatal.

Archive: If it's on your list, you can archive it. If isn't and you'd like it, just let me know where you're putting it.

Website: Mice's Hole in the Wall https://www.squidge.org/mice

Mirror: http://mice.inkpress.org

Disclaimer: I don't own these guys. Honest. I'm just playing with them for a while. I'll put them back when I'm done. They may be slightly worse for wear.

Author's Notes: Thanks to Jenji for some good ideas to get this plot started. Props to Shadow for insta-beta.

~~~

The Space Between Breaths

Don't let your throat tighten

with fear. Take sips of breath

all day and night, before

death closes your mouth.

~~Rumi, trans. by Coleman Barks~~

The fire was at their heels when he and Carson leapt into the river.

Somewhere in the horror of the last fifteen minutes, they'd been separated from the Major and the rest of the Gate team. Ford's arm had just come out of the cast yesterday, and he'd been released for full duty again. It was too bad the kid's excitement had met this mess. Rodney wondered if Sheppard and the others were all right.

His hair and clothes were already singeing with the terrifying heat and they were both winded, still carrying heavy supply packs when they threw themselves over the edge of the long, steep drop. The smoke from the wildfire had been thick and choking, burning their throats, but the flashing current was so fast it ripped their packs from them and tumbled them viciously.

Rodney lost sight of Carson as they were both swept away. He struggled for the riverbank but was slammed into rocks as the water pulled him under and tossed him back up over and over again. Wet darkness enveloped him and he scrabbled desperately for purchase, but everything was slick with slime or dragged from under his fingers. He was drained, bruised, and nearly blinded by the time he pulled himself to safety. He had no idea how far downstream he'd been washed or how long he'd been thrown by the current.

Coughing, Rodney choked and spit water from his lungs. If he weren't an atheist, he'd be praying that Carson was still alive. As it was, he just made himself hope enough for a dozen people. He could hear the fire roaring on the opposite bank, some five metres above him now, see the waves of heat expanding like some wavering forcefield as they radiated. He could feel the almost-burn on the freezing wet skin of his face and hands and ears.

The river had washed him down into a shallow canyon of sorts, and sparks were showering around him, falling into the trees on his side of the river. It was already burning here, too. The bank on this side was only a metre or so over his head. Shaky, he got to his feet. He wiped muddy water from his eyes and his vision cleared.

"Ca--" He coughed and gasped for breath then tumbled back to his knees, too weak to remain upright. His chest hurt. Shit, he'd sucked in enough water to drown an elephant, and who knew what kind of ugly organisms might be in it? He was probably in for giardia and a nasty bout of pneumonia, or some other unspeakable alien *worse*, if he survived the fire. It hurt to take a deep breath, but he pushed his fear away as best he could. He was so screwed.

He had to find Carson.

"Carson!" He coughed again, not so badly this time. Dragging himself back up, he stood, a little steadier now. "CARSON!" He was answered only by the roaring of the fire, and the white noise of the river at his feet.

Looking upstream, he saw a few scattered, ruined items from one of their packs. There was no sign of Carson. He turned and looked downstream. Caught against a snag in an eddy about ten metres down -- on this side, thankfully -- was Carson's limp form, limbs floating in the moving water.

"*Carson!*"

Beckett didn't stir, and that scared Rodney more than anything else in this hellhole. He staggered down the bank, trying to keep his unsteady footing among the roots and boulders, slapping at the sparks that stung as they landed on him.

Oh god, what if he was dead? What if he'd drowned or snapped his neck in the fall or broken his back when he'd slammed against a rock -- 'Shut up, Rodney,' he told himself. 'Shut up, he's not dead, he can't be dead, and I am *so* fucking *screwed*. He's hurt and what the hell am I gonna do?' It wasn't like he had much first aid training. He was a physicist, damn it. He was supposed to be in a lab somewhere, playing with equations and Ancient artifacts and flashy lights and bleeping things. Instead, he spent way too much time with a fucking P-90 in his hands shooting at life-sucking aliens and watching people die around him.

Oh yeah. Fun.

They were going to die. Roast Rodney and Char-broiled Carson, if Carson wasn't already drowned.

He splashed into the river when he got to Carson, reaching out for the still form. "You'd better be breathing, damn it," he moaned. "If you're dead, I'll kill you." Carson was face up, and Rodney let out a breath. He hadn't realized he'd been holding it.

The water was almost up to his shoulders, but the eddy kept him from being sucked back out into the raging current. A branch sticking out from the snag held Carson tight, jabbing through a tear in his jacket, tangled. Rodney pulled and the cloth ripped, releasing the unconscious man. He fell back, splashing, one fist keeping hold of Carson's shirt. They both dipped under, and Rodney struggled to his feet, holding Carson's head up.

"Be alive, damn it, be alive."

He jerked back in terror, dragging Carson with him as a huge, flaming limb crashed into the water next to them. Burning chunks and water flew everywhere around him and panic was what finally gave him the strength to drag Carson from the pool.

Rodney was running on adrenaline and he knew it. He sat Carson up against a boulder and felt for a pulse at his throat.

*Yes!* Heartbeat! Breathing! Things were looking up, if you didn't mind 'looking up' being 'stuck in the middle of a raging wildfire with no equipment and no immediate hope of rescue'.

He took a moment to actually look at Carson and swallowed hard. Carson's nose was bleeding. His lip was split open and bleeding as well, and Rodney could see the beginning of a huge bruise in a swath across the left side of his face. Carson's eye was already swollen shut, despite the freezing water.

"Shit." He touched Carson's face gently. "Oh, shit." This was crazy. There was no time for him to have a fucking panic attack. "Carson, come on Carson, wake up. Please, wake up." He hated himself for how he sounded, pleading and terrified. The fear in his voice angered him, but he couldn't push it away.

'Focus, Rodney, focus,' he told himself. 'You're the genius here. Think of something.'

He patted Carson's cheek, the one that didn't look like it would be hamburger in a few hours. He leaned down close, trying to hear if Carson's breathing was all right, or if he'd inhaled any water. There was a soft moan, and Rodney watched as one blue-grey eye fluttered slowly open.

It closed again then Carson moved his head carefully. "Owwww." He put a hand to his face.

"Carson? If you can stand up, we sorta have to get out of here. Sky's falling and all that." Rodney waved toward the flaming trees above them, panic rising.

Carson opened his eye again and squinted. "Bugger it all." He reached up toward Rodney. Rodney took his hand and started to haul him up, but Carson's knees buckled.

"Carson!"

"Ohhh." He dropped to his hands and knees and puked, muddy water pouring out of him. Rodney got down and held his shoulders as he shuddered and vomited. When he was done, Carson sagged to the ground.

"You're scaring me here, Carson." Rodney looked up again, suddenly ducking his head, sheltering Carson with his body as another fiery branch crashed nearby. "We have *got* to get out of here. Come on, I'll help you." He grabbed Carson's arm and slung it over his shoulder, pulling him to his feet.

Carson nodded and clung to Rodney, moving as best he could. "The others?"

"No idea."

They leaned hard on each other as Rodney guided them downstream, Carson's chill body real and solid under his arm. The steep bank on their side dipped not much further down, and they could put more distance between themselves and the worst of the fire. If they were really lucky, they might be able to rest for a few minutes and take stock of Carson's injuries. Rodney hoped they weren't as bad as his well-refined sense of doom suggested.

It was a very long twenty minutes. When they finally collapsed, panting, behind a massive boulder, Carson leaned his head against the stone and looked over at Rodney.

"At least there's only one of you, thank God."

Rodney leaned over and waved some fingers in front of Carson. "How many?"

"Three." Well, he'd gotten that right at least. The soft burr of his accent was reassuring, even if the situation sucked swamp water.

"Oh, good. Will you be all right?"

Carson covered his face with his hands, still breathing hard. "Probably got a bloody concussion. My head's poundin' like some terrible disco nightmare, and I'm dizzy as well. Tired. It's no good. You?"

"Cold. Wet. Brutally bruised all over my body. Nothing fatal. Well, unless you count whatever might be in that water we swallowed when we did our Butch and Sundance impression." He touched Carson's face carefully. "Do you think you broke anything?"

Carson moaned then took a long breath. "I don't know. Everything hurts too much to tell. Feels like my brain's a wee bit scrambled though. I can't focus very well, but I can't get my other eye open so I'm not sure if it's one or both. Neurological damage would be a very bad thing."

"You need to rest." Rodney's touch became fingers moving carefully through Carson's wet hair. "We both need to catch our breath, or at least as much as we can in all this smoke. We'll have to move again soon."

"Aye." Carson's hand covered his, and he looked up into Rodney's eyes. "Don't let me fall asleep, Rodney. Don't let me lose focus. I'm pretty sure there's a concussion and it could go bad for me if I do." His face creased with worry. Rodney's chest tightened.

"I won't." Shivering, he moved closer. "You cold?"

Carson nodded. "Water was freezing. I'm soaked to the bone."

"Me too." He offered an arm and Carson leaned into him. He didn't want to think about how alone he'd be right now if Carson had died in the river. They looked at each other for a brief moment and wrapped their arms around each other, shuddering.

"We've got to get back to the Jumper," Carson said.

"I know, but I'm not sure where we left it." He looked around. The sky was black with smoke above them, and he could hear the roar of the fire moving closer. More smoke billowed around them, obscuring the trees like a thick fog. There was no way to determine direction by observation. "We lost all our equipment with the packs."

Carson burrowed into his chest. "Bloody head's killing me." He coughed as white ash fell around them, eerily unlike snow.

"I'm sorry," Rodney whispered. He held Carson closer. "I don't want to die out here." He didn't want Carson to die here either. His eyes burned with the smoke and he brushed away the tears with his wet sleeve. It soothed the pain a little.

"Radio?"

Rodney shook his head. "Lost it in the river." He could see Carson's wasn't tucked around his ear. It had, no doubt, gone the same way.

"We have to keep moving."

"It's all right," Rodney said, with more bravado than conviction. "Rest a little longer."

"The fire's too close. Too much smoke." Carson struggled to his feet. Rodney rose and helped him up.

"All right. Maybe we can gain a little more distance on it. Flank it or something, if we can figure out where it's safe." He rustled in his jacket's breast pocket, pulled out a wet, badly abused chocolate bar and peeled it. Unwrapping would be far too generous a description. "Want some? It's not much, but it might help." He knew he needed it; he was starting to feel pretty shaky himself. Hell of a time for his fucking hypoglycemia to rear its ugly head. The sugar would stave it off for a while, at least.

Carson looked at him for a moment then took the proffered chunk. "Thanks. You sure you shouldn't keep this for later?"

"We could be dead later. And by later I mean in the next half hour."

Carson ate it in a quick bite. "Oh. Right. Thanks for remindin' me." Unbelievably, Carson chuckled. Rodney wrapped his arms around him and held him, feeling relief for some utterly absurd reason. Carson returned the embrace, holding on tight.

"You know me." He spoke quietly into Carson's still-damp ear. "It's my job to remind everyone how screwed we are." He placed a soft kiss behind that ear; he'd think about it later, if there was a later. Right now, things were too fucked up.

"Rodney--"

"Come on." He stepped back to see if Carson could walk by himself yet. "The wind's blowing this way. If we parallel instead of walking into or away from it, we might make it out of the fire line."

Carson nodded and they set off.

Rodney wasn't sure how long they'd traveled when they stopped to rest again. The smoke was lighter now, and the heat less oppressive. They both agreed it was a good sign. Carson's sight had cleared up a bit as well, cheering him.

"I think we're going to be all right," Carson said. "Though I still have a cavernous, throbbing headache. Feels like half of Glasgow's rioting in there."

"Yeah, but we don't know what's over that rise yet, do we? For all we know, it could be another leading edge of the fire."

"Your charm just never wears off." Carson's sour tone was lightened by a chuckle. He pointed to some nearby shrubs along the bank of a creek. "That looks like those fruit the folk here like so much."

Rodney nodded. They looked familiar. Everyone on the planet seemed to be sucking on one whenever you turned around. He hadn't had one yet, but everyone said they were good. Ford was particularly fond of them. "I think you're right." His throat was parched, and he was sure Carson was thirsty as well. It would be good to get something other than chocolate into his system too. "Sit for a few minutes. I'll get some for us."

Carson sat heavily. He rested his head on his knees, arms curled around his legs. Rodney watched, worried, for a moment before he turned his attention to the bushes. He wasn't sure how to tell if the things were ripe, but there were a lot of them. He chose the small, round, brownish ones that seemed to be the same shade as the ones the people here ate. They were a little bit squishy inside their husks, reminding him vaguely of over-ripe kiwi fruit.

In a few moments, he'd gathered a couple of pockets full and returned to Carson. He put them on the ground in front of them and looked over at his exhausted, aching friend. Rodney held a fruit out.

"Carson."

Carson looked up. "Thanks." His voice was rough and tired, gravelly from the smoke they'd been breathing. He opened one and sucked the juice out, then started on another.

Rodney hesitated then spoke again. "I'm sorry," he said. He paused and Carson gave him a puzzled look. "About how I treated you, I mean."

"Rodney --"

"No. Look, I'm lousy at this apology thing, okay? So let's just get that out of the way right now. I was a total shit, and I admit it."

Carson put a hand on Rodney's arm. "We don't have to talk about this now."

"Maybe not, but I want to."

"And what Rodney McKay wants, Rodney McKay gets, is that it?" It wasn't an accusation so much as a gentle rebuke. Rodney really wasn't in the mood.

"Not usually, but it'll do for the moment." He squeezed the small fruit in his hand. He looked at Carson. "I didn't mean for things to happen that way. Seriously. I was... I was scared."

Carson sighed. He leaned on Rodney. "I know."

"Do you get it, Carson? We could die out here. I don't want to go with you thinking I'm King of the Assholes."

"A little late for that," Carson observed wryly. He smiled then winced. Rodney winced with him, knowing he had to hurt pretty damned badly. The bruise that would be half his face in another hour or so was already purpling. "Rodney, leave it. We're friends, and I know that, all right?"

Rodney dropped his head a little and gave a quiet laugh. "All right." He smiled at Carson. Poking a thumbnail into the skin of the fruit to open it, he sucked at it. The juice was really fairly tasty. It reminded him a little of guava. It helped his dry throat, washing away some of the smoke.

"Not bad, are they?" Carson asked.

"Mm-hmm." The sound of the fire was getting closer again, the sparks and ash falling more thickly. "Put some in your pockets. We may not find any more."

Carson did, and Rodney did as well. They rose and picked more from the bushes as they headed out. Rodney sucked on another as they hurried along, tossing the empty husk when he finished.

"I wonder how the others are doing?" Carson said.

"Better than we are, I hope." He rubbed his lips. They were tingling a little. Maybe if he had a little more juice-- "Oh *shit*!"

"Rodney?"

"Oh shit oh shit!" Rodney patted himself down frantically, tossing the fruit away and groping in his pockets. He was starting to itch and get dizzy.

"Rodney?" There was an edge in Carson's voice.

"Oh my *god* I am *hosed.* Where the *fuck* is my allergy kit?" He couldn't find it. Where the hell *was* it? Probably with his pack in the river, god DAMN it. The tingling was getting worse and his hands were tingly now too and he could hear himself starting to wheeze.

"Aller--" Carson grabbed him by the arm. "Oh my god, Rodney. I've got no medkit."

"I'm painfully *aware* of that. I am so gonna fucking *die*!" Okay, so he was starting to panic. The stomach cramps were hitting now too. He was still breathing, but Rodney didn't know for how long. Anaphylaxis could be really fast. Ugly, but fast. His tongue was tingling. That was a very, very bad sign. He was going to drop dead here in a second, if not sooner. "It's not a fucking *citrus* fruit! This is not supposed to -- How does this *happen* to me? I'm gonna DIE!" Shouting. He was shouting and wheezing and he couldn't breathe. Definitely panic. Oh god, he couldn't panic. Panic only made things worse.

"No, damn it, you're not dying, Rodney!" The desperation in Carson's voice was truth enough.

Carson had him when his knees gave out. His head was buzzing and damn it, if by some fucking miracle he survived he was so gonna tie that fucking allergy kit to his belt with a lanyard, he didn't care *how* stupid and un-studly it looked. He could feel his tongue swelling, his throat tightening shut. The buzz in his ears was getting really obnoxious.

"Hang on, Rodney! Breathe, damn you!"

The sound of a billion angry wasps screamed in his ears as everything went black.

***

Rodney was down and Carson had no medkit, not even one bloody asthma inhaler, for all the good it would do now. He looked around, frantic. He had to get something down Rodney's throat to open the airway before his tongue and throat got so swollen nothing could get in there. If the swelling in the bronchial tissues wasn't too severe, he might have a chance.

Anaphylactic shock reactions were of limited duration -- a few hours, usually. It was part of the reason epinephrine worked. Most of the time, all you had to do was keep the patient breathing and deal with the drop in blood pressure until the allergic reaction calmed. Without a medkit, though, Rodney's survival odds were close to nil, forest fire be damned.

Rodney was starting to go blue when Carson spotted a possibility. It looked like bamboo, growing along the creek they'd been following. He pulled his penknife from his pocket, hoping he was right.

Sure enough, the plants were hollow. He'd seen cups and containers made with these things, and while Rodney had certainly reacted to some of the planet's fruit, odds were good that this wouldn't do him any more harm, at least. The stem was firm but flexible, so he hoped he could get it in.

He rounded the edges off as best he could with his blade, damning himself for not carrying anything more useful. He *knew* Rodney was allergic, but it wasn't like anybody was expecting to run into bloody sodding *lemons* in the middle of a forest fire.

It had to go down Rodney's throat without anything to lubricate. Carson was glad Rodney was already unconscious. This would hurt, otherwise, and badly. "I'm sorry, Rodney," he whispered. "God, I'm sorry." He was slow and careful as he could be under the circumstances and slumped in relief when he heard Rodney's first breath.

Now all he had to deal with was the nearing inferno. Provided, that was, that Rodney didn't die from rapidly collapsing blood pressure, another lovely symptom of anaphylaxis.

There was naught to do about the blood pressure, really. He couldn't keep the fire back either, so that meant he had to move Rodney.

He knew he wasn't in any shape to be hauling an unconscious man about the countryside, but there was no choice. At this point, if they didn't avoid the fire and nobody found them in the next hour or so, they were both likely to die of smoke inhalation at the very least. Concussions and potential skull fractures really weren't so much of an issue in that light.

He scanned the area quickly, and found a couple of downed limbs about the right size. They weren't so rotted through they wouldn't bear weight. Tugging his jacket off, he tied it to them then did the same with Rodney's jacket. Carefully, he shifted Rodney onto his makeshift travois.

"It's going to be a rough ride, a ch‡raid," he said. He rested a hand over Rodney's heart for a moment. "I only wish I could make it easier on both of us."

Taking the ends of the branches, he set off with the wind coming on to his right. It had been the direction they'd been going before. He felt like an overburdened Shetland pony.

He forced himself to keep walking for maybe half an hour before his legs finally gave out at the edge of a dark, smoky clearing. His head was spinning, and his vision was blurred again. When he'd caught his breath, he lay down next to Rodney and listened for a heartbeat. It was far too rapid, but reasonably steady. There was still breath moving through the tube in Rodney's throat.

With what strength he had left, he found them a sheltered position, out of the prevailing wind. He'd learnt too much of fire-winds in the last few hours. The heat was encroaching, hot as a forge, but there was nothing left in him.

Carson pulled Rodney to him, held him like a child against his body. "I'm sorry," he said. "I did all I could."

He wasn't a religious man, but praying was the only thing left. God didn't seem quite right to him, but his mum was always awfully fond of Saint Brigit, so he murmured the old words he'd heard so often.

"Gach latha agus gach oidhche..." Every day and every night that I say the Descent of Brigit...

He remembered the prayer as he knew the bones of his body. It flowed from his lips, unfailing now. "...cha mharbhair mi, cha loinnear mi..." I'll not be slain, I'll not die by swords...

He lost himself in the rhythm of the words, coughing in the smoke, eyes closed and tearing with the burn, holding the man he wished was his lover. "...cha loisg teine mi, cha loisg grian mi..." ...nor fire shall burn me, nor sun shall burn me...

He was still murmuring when the smoke overcame him.

***

"Over here! Over here!"

Ford's voice cut through the smoke and Sheppard and Teyla ran. "I found them!"

Sheppard thought those had to be the three sweetest words in the English language.

***

Carson never expected to open his eyes again. When he did, however, he was unsurprised to find himself in the infirmary. The first sound he made was a hacking cough. This, also, was entirely unsurprising.

Shel was by his side, as though she'd come out of the air itself. Best damned nurse in the Pegasus galaxy, really.

"Doctor Beckett." She smiled and touched his shoulder.

He tried to smile back. "Rodney?" he asked. He wasn't entirely sure she heard him.

"He's very weak, but he'll make it. You did a brilliant job."

Carson smiled and closed his eyes.

~~fin~~