TITLE: Grounded
FANDOM: Stargate: Atlantis (SGA)
RATING / GENRE:: T/ Gen hurt/comfort
PAIRINGS: None (Team-fic, friendship)
WARNINGS: Set somewhere mid-S3, so there are a few vague references to S3
SUMMARY: The sequel/continuation of my earlier fic 'Consanguinity'. The team helps Sheppard get back on his feet after he's injured off-world. Also has a bit more Shep-whump, when his recovery suffers a set-back.
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Author's Note: This is a follow-up fic to my previous Shep-whump hurt/comfort story, 'Consanguinity'. That fic was about Sheppard being attacked by a wild animal, and how the team saves him from bleeding to death while they're cut off from Atlantis for a time. The fic ends with Sheppard in the infirmary the day after, with the team and Beckett hovering over him.
'Consanguinity' can be found through my author profile:
This fic picks up where that left off and covers how the team helps him recover so he can go off-world with them again. This is still a hurt/comfort, team-friendship gen fic, and has more Shep-whump, because what fun would it be if Sheppard's recovery went smoothly…? ;-)
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It did not take long for John Sheppard to realize that Doctor Beckett had taken him off the morphine.
He had awakened when the nurses began their morning routine, checking his vital signs, taking his temperature, drawing blood and such. Then they had fussed with the I.V. lines, removing at least one bag of fluid from the pole. He had swallowed the handful of pills he was given, and had inwardly rejoiced when the catheter and tubing were removed as well. Peeing into a bag was one of the most humiliating things about being bed ridden.
After adjusting his pillows and getting him comfortable, they had left him alone.
As he lay there, half-dozing, he knew something was different as the hazy, warm, euphoric, slightly fuzzy feeling in his brain began to fade. And in turn, the aches and pains in his body began to make themselves known again, making it difficult to fall back to sleep. It was not just the wounds that troubled him -- his back and butt hurt too, from the bruises that must have occurred when he had been knocked to the ground by the alien mountain lion. Said bruises which forced him to shift several times in the bed to get the weight off the most sensitive spots.
Unfortunately, whenever he moved his right arm at all within the restrictive confines of the sling, he could feel the painful tug of the newly stitched wounds across the right side of his chest. His left thigh ached where the beast had tried to take a bite out of him, and there were other shallow cuts, such as on his right shin, that were adding to the discomfort.
They still had him on some kind of painkiller -- no doubt it would hurt a hell of a lot more if he wasn't -- but he didn't mind not being on the morphine anymore. It messed with his head too much, made his thinking hazy and sluggish, and although he was thankful he'd had a day to just sleep, as military commander of Atlantis, he couldn't afford to let his guard down for long.
He lay there, unmoving, eyes half closed, listening to the ever-present beeping from the monitors, wondering when the breakfast tray might show up, his appetite returning along with the pain.
Footsteps approached, and he looked up as Beckett arrived at his bedside.
"Good morning, Colonel," he said with a warm smile, slipping the stethoscope from around his neck and putting it in his ears.
"Mornin', doc."
"Let's have a listen, shall we?" Beckett said, warming the metal disk in his hands before slipping it under Sheppard's gown.
Beckett seemed to be in a rather good mood, leaving Sheppard to wonder whether he truly had hallucinated last night's rather personal conversation with the Scotsman about the hazards of life here on Atlantis.
"So… you get a good night's sleep, Carson…?" he casually asked.
There was enough hesitation as Beckett moved the stethoscope to tell Sheppard that the conversation had indeed taken place. "Quiet now," Beckett admonished. "Breathe slow and deep for me."
When he was done with that exam, Beckett stepped back. "Sounds just fine." He looped the instrument around his neck again. "Well, I wouldn't exactly call it a full night's sleep -- when does that ever happen around here? -- but yes I did manage to get 40 winks."
"So then… we're good… right?"
"We certainly are… It's a brand new day. And a lovely day it is at that. Beautiful sunrise," he smiled. "So how are we feeling today, Colonel?"
"Doing fine, doc," he smiled back, thankful that the awkwardness from last night was gone.
"And your pain level?"
"I'm good."
"Really."
The way he said it made Sheppard wary. "Is that a trick question, doc?"
"Not for most people." He folded his arms across his chest. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's happening. Giving me false information about your condition and telling me what I want to hear is not going to get you out of that bed any sooner. Quite the opposite in fact… So, how is the pain?"
"Well… maybe it hurts a little more than yesterday. You changed meds this morning, didn't you?"
Beckett shook his head, sighing. "I knew you weren't telling the truth… Yes, I did change them. I had wanted you to get as much rest as possible, so I'd been giving you morphine. But I don't want to use anything that strong for very long, so you're on a low dose of Vicodin now. But if the pain is too bad, you have to tell me so I can adjust the dosage. Or conversely, I'll switch you to plain acetaminophen once you've healed a bit more."
"Yea, it hurts, but I don't want anything stronger anymore. I may be stuck in bed, but I still need my wits about me, in case anything happens in the city or off-world."
"Lad, none of that is your concern while you're laid up."
Sheppard snorted. "Yea, right. Like the Wraith or the Replicators are gonna take the week off too while I'm in here. In case you haven't noticed, the list of people we've pissed off gets longer every day."
"Then the best thing you can do is cooperate with your kindly CMO so you can get back to work. I'll be more than happy to release you when you're ready, but not before then. But I will do my best to get you back on your feet, and the first step towards that is me letting you out of bed for a bit this morning."
Sheppard's face lit up.
"Which is another reason why I reduced the pain medication. I want you to be able to feel the effects of the damage that's been done, so you don't do something stupid like try to put weight on that leg before I give you the ok. Same with your arm."
"That's great, Carson. Let's go then." Sheppard flipped back the sheets. "I'm sure I'm already losing muscle tone from just lying around."
"I said this morning. I didn't mean right this minute. They'll be bringing your breakfast soon."
He was disappointed, but first things first. He needed plenty of nutrition to help his body repair itself. "Good, I'm starved."
"That's encouraging to hear." He patted Sheppard on the shoulder. "I'll be back later."
--
The crew in the mess hall had gotten in the habit of sending up meal trays for him with extra large portions whenever he was in the infirmary, and today was no exception. Sheppard wolfed down the scrambled eggs, toast, hash browns (or at least what passed for hash browns, made from a potato-like vegetable) and orange juice.
There was also a piece of purple fruit from the mainland and an extra protein bar. He put the bar aside for later snacking.
He was licking the last of the fruit off his fingers when Beckett re-appeared. He moved the tray aside happily, but his face fell while he watched a wheelchair being pushed to the right side of the bed.
"Hell, no, I don't need that," Sheppard protested.
"Yes, you do. I said you could get out of bed, not go for a stroll around the city. It's this or nothing, Colonel."
Sheppard grimaced. "Fine then," he huffed, pulling the sheets off himself again, pushing with one arm, shifting enough to let his uninjured right leg dangle off the edge of the bed. But as he moved, the gown he was wearing shifted too, opening wide in the back, and he hastily pulled the sheets around his waist and exposed backside.
"I need some clothes, doc -- it's a little drafty here."
Beckett was shaking his head again. "No. You'll have to live with the gown as long as you're here. Besides, you couldn't get a shirt on right now if you tried."
"At least give me some damn underwear. I'm not walking around here with my ass hanging out."
"No." As Sheppard started to sputter, Beckett added, "Not until you're more mobile. Clothing just gets in the way of trying to look after you and monitoring your injuries."
"You enjoy this, don't you? It's your way of getting back at patients who are a pain in the ass."
Beckett chuckled as he stepped over to a supply cabinet, pulling out another gown. "It does have its perks." He draped the second gown over the back of Sheppard's shoulders. "I've got a bathrobe you can use too."
He left for a moment, then came back with a robe in one hand and a blood pressure cuff in the other. "Let's check your pressure before we start all this -- don't want you getting dizzy on me."
Sheppard bit his lip to stop the sigh of frustration from escaping, waiting patiently until Beckett had finished.
"Pressure is good, if a little low. 95/60."
Sheppard saw his brow furrow as he glanced between the wheelchair and his bandaged leg. "I think I need someone else here with us, just in case you get light-headed."
The frustration escaped this time. "I don't need two people just to help me out of bed!"
Carson put his hands on his hips and glared at him. "Do you want to do this or not, Colonel? Or are you just going to argue with everything I say?"
Sheppard glared back, and was about to reply when someone new entering the room caught his attention.
"Ronon…! Just the man we need."
At this point, he was almost tempted to have Ronon pick him up and put him in the damn wheelchair just to avoid listening to Beckett's fussing.
"Need for what?"
"Carson here is being an old lady and thinks I need two people just to help me sit in a chair. Give me a hand, will you, buddy?"
"Technically, Ronon's my patient too, Colonel. With those bruised ribs, he shouldn't be doing anything strenuous or lifting anything."
"Strenuous? I just need someone to lean on, not pick me up and carry me across the room."
"I'm fine," Ronon said.
"D'you know how many times I've heard that from both of you? You're daft buggers, the lot of you. You could have your bloody arms chopped off, and you'd still tell me 'I'm fine'…!"
"I thought we agreed, doc -- no more graphic mental pictures."
Beckett stiffened a bit. "And I thought we weren't going to bring that up anymore, Colonel."
Sheppard ignored him, turning to Ronon. "Come on, big guy, help me down."
He soon discovered that getting into the wheelchair was not going to be nearly as easy as it sounded. Just sitting on the edge of the bed with both legs down made the injured thigh throb painfully, and the room spun dizzily for a few seconds. To stand up, he had to put his left arm around Ronon's shoulders to be able to balance on his slightly shaky right leg, carefully heeding Beckett's admonitions not to put any weight on the injured left leg. Ronon was also warned not to touch his injured shoulder either.
Ronon did have to lift him up for a moment to shift him sideways so Beckett could get the chair behind him. Somewhere in the process they got the robe draped loosely over his shoulders, then Ronon lowered him down into the wheelchair with Beckett's guidance.
Everything hurt like hell now, his shoulder and leg throbbing with each heartbeat. Beckett looked up from where he was kneeling as he adjusted the footrest on the left side, raising it so that Sheppard's left leg was parallel to the floor.
"Now do you understand why I wanted to take things slow and easy at first, Colonel?" Beckett said. "It'll get easier fairly quickly, but as long as you can't use both arms or both legs, it's going to be awkward…. Do you need me to give you more for the pain?"
Sheppard managed to smile, shaking his head. "No, I'm good. Piece of cake, doc."
Beckett rolled his eyes. "I don't know which is worse -- Rodney the hypochondriac, or you who won't admit anything's wrong."
Ronon was grinning, and Beckett turned on him.
"Ah, you think this is amusing, do you now? Well, you are still my patient too, son, and you're due to have your own leg looked at today, so hop on the bed over there, take off your boots and roll up your trousers."
Ronon and Sheppard gave each other amused looks.
"Now," Beckett said, going to the supply shelves and picking up various things. Ronon complied, going to an empty bed.
As Beckett started unwrapping Ronon's old bandages, he pointed at Sheppard. "Don't even think about wheeling yourself out of here. Be happy you're out of bed."
Ronon and Sheppard smiled at each other again, Sheppard rolling his eyes a bit. "Yes, Mother," he said.
Beckett shook his head, muttering under his breath. "… I'm dealing with bloody children…"
The infirmary was quiet for a few minutes as Beckett looked over Ronon, and Sheppard adjusted to his new bit of freedom, pulling the robe around him as much as possible.
The silence was short-lived however, as McKay arrived carrying a small duffel bag.
"And it started out as such a lovely morning…" Beckett muttered with a heavy sigh.
McKay stopped, a surprised look on his face. "Sheppard. You're out of bed." He moved closer, eyes narrowing. "Should you be out of bed? You look like crap."
"Gee thanks, McKay, that's exactly what I wanted to hear right now."
"Carson…? Should he be out of bed? I thought you said he was getting better."
"He is getting better, appearances notwithstanding."
"I'm off the morphine today. Yesterday I was too high to care about what was wrong with me."
"Well, you ought to be back on it. Carson, don't listen to his macho bullshit about not being in pain, give him more drugs."
"You're an astrophysicist, not a physician. Leave the medications to me. I put 127 stitches in the man, Rodney -- he's not going to be dancing a bloody jig any time soon."
McKay looked queasy. "127...?"
"Aye. And that doesn't include the surgical glue and butterfly bandages on the smaller cuts."
"It looks like four big zippers across my chest." Sheppard grinned as McKay paled slightly. "It's kinda cool actually."
"Since when is nearly getting mauled to death by a big alien mountain lion 'cool'..? You really are certifiable, Sheppard."
"Can I see it?" Ronon said eagerly.
"Sure, if they let you the next time they change the dressings."
"This wasn't much," Ronon said, gesturing at the re-wrapped bandage on his leg that covered a 6-inch jagged gash. "Probably won't leave a scar." He sounded almost disappointed.
"This definitely will," Sheppard said.
"I'll give you some ointment later to keep the scarring to a minimum," Beckett said. "If you want it, that is," he said with an amused shake of his head.
Sheppard paused, pondering that.
"Oh please, enough with the comparing scars," McKay said. "What are you, five?"
"I guess that means you won't be showing us the scar on your ass," Sheppard grinned, and Ronon smiled.
McKay flushed red. "As if I don't have more than that -- no thanks to you!" he said, tapping his fingers over his left shoulder and the bullet scar beneath. "You shot me!"
Sheppard frowned. "How many times do I have to say I'm sorry for that, Rodney? I wasn't in my right mind."
"None of us were," Beckett said solemnly.
Sheppard saw McKay absently touch his right forearm and decided to change the subject. No point in bringing up the scar left by one of Kolya's goons.
"So what did you bring me, Rodney?"
"What…? Oh. Yea." He put the bag on the bed, opening it up. "Blue jell-o."
Sheppard raised an eyebrow at the clear plastic container that looked like it had flipped upside down a few times, bits of blue jell-o clinging to the top. "And how long as that been in there?"
"I just picked it up from the mess hall -- I had them keep it in the fridge for you." He pulled more items from the bag. "Laptop, PDA, a deck of cards, Sudoku book, toothbrush, and your robe. But I see you've got one already."
"There had better not be a radio in there," Beckett warned from across the room as he examined Ronon's bruised ribs.
"No, Carson. No radio," McKay said.
But Sheppard turned his face away from Beckett, looking hopefully at McKay. But McKay shook his head with an empty-hands gesture, and Sheppard mouthed 'Get me one'.
'I can't," McKay mouthed back. Sheppard frowned, and McKay scowled, nodding his head towards Beckett while imitating putting a hypodermic needle in his arm.
"Rodney…"
McKay looked at Beckett.
'No. Radio," Beckett mouthed.
McKay and Sheppard exchanged sheepish looks, and Beckett added aloud, "Or I will bring out the really big needles for your next physical."
"Ok, no radio," McKay said.
Beckett turned to Ronon. "Everything looks all right, son. Just try to go easy with the sparring for a few days until those ribs heal."
Ronon gave a non-committal grunt as he hopped down off the table.
"I'm talking to myself with you too, aren't I?" Beckett grumbled.
As Ronon returned to Sheppard's bedside, the remaining member of the alpha team arrived, carrying a large coffee mug.
"Good morning, Doctor Beckett," she said cheerfully as she passed him.
"Ah, Teyla, good morning." He smiled back warmly. "I have a question for you, luv."
"Yes?" she said, stopping and turning towards him.
"Tell me -- how is it that you can spend so much time off-world with these three 'gentlemen' and not manage to shoot them? The morning's barely started, and they're already giving me a migraine headache."
Teyla glanced at her teammates, then addressed Beckett. "It is often tempting, I admit. But I have had much practice in dealing with mischievous young boys, when I was younger and helped looked after some of my cousins. This is not so very different."
There was a chorus of indignant "Hey!"'s from the three men.
As Beckett chuckled, Teyla smiled. "I have brought some Athosian healing tea for Colonel Sheppard." She held up the mug. "With your permission, of course, Doctor."
"That's fine, I'm sure it'll do him some good." He looked over at Sheppard pointedly. "Assuming he follows the rest of his doctor's instructions."
Sheppard gave him an innocent, puppy-dog look.
"I have paperwork to do in my office, but someone will be by shortly to change the linens and such. In the meantime, I'm expecting you three to keep an eye on him. And don't tire him out -- he'll be back in bed soon enough."
When Beckett had gone, McKay said, "I loaded a couple new games on your laptop, for when you get bored. But I still haven't -- " He stopped abruptly, holding up his hand. "Hang on…"
Turning aside, McKay tapped the radio in his ear. "What?" he barked, a 'how dare you interrupt me?' tone in his voice.
He paused briefly, listening to the voice on the other end, then launched into a tirade. "How incompetent are you people? Can't you manage down there for five minutes without screwing things up…? Oh, yea right, blame your stupidity on me…" He started walking away from Sheppard's bedside and out of the infirmary. "Yes, I'm on my way back, because I so do not want to explain to Dr. Weir why you've blown up half the city…!"
McKay's voice faded away as he disappeared with only the briefest of hand-waves in the team's direction, and Sheppard, Ronon and Teyla looked at each other and chuckled.
As Teyla handed Sheppard the warm mug of tea, he looked up at her. "So… 'Mischievous young boys'…? Is that what you think of your teammates, Teyla?" He was frowning at her disapprovingly, but his voice was lightly teasing.
Ronon just looked bemused.
Teyla smiled serenely. "Drink your tea, Colonel."
TBC
