Not a laughing matter.
In response to Stealth Dragon's challenge to write a Sheppard centric whump fic where something that starts as an amusing event actually turns into something serious. Set after Common Ground with minor spoilers for that episode. Thanks to Kodiak for her wonderful suggestions and first class beta skills! What would I do with out you?
"Colonel?" Teyla's voice showed concern as she called to her team leader. "Are you all right?"
John looked back at the Athosian and exhaled loudly, as he ran a hand over his soaking face.
"I'm fine. Just got an itch, that's all," he replied testily.
Teyla looked at McKay and raised an eyebrow.
"You've had an itch on your arm, your back - and other places I really don't want to think about, for the last thirty minutes, Colonel. Please tell me you haven't got inter-galactic fleas…or worse?"
McKay's voice showed his irritation, but also his amusement at John's plight.
"No, I haven't got fleas, and before you ask, I haven't got anything remotely contagious for you to get paranoid about, Rodney. I've got an itch on my arm- and maybe a few other places. I'm cold, wet and need a shower. Drop it."
John's voice left no room for argument, as he walked briskly ahead towards the Stargate. He was uncharacteristically short-tempered, and feeling hot, yet mysteriously cold at the same time, itchy and unusually tired. Top that off with a headache and sore throat, and John was feeling pretty under the weather and in no mood for McKay's third degree over his constant scratching. Had the laundry used new detergent? John momentarily wondered if he actually had picked up some sort of fleas, or maybe he'd gotten bit by some alien bug? John shuddered and grimaced. God, he hated bugs.
"What's the matter with him? Must be coming down with serious case of grumpitis," Rodney huffed to himself, as he watched John shiver.
"I believe John is feeling unwell, Rodney," Teyla answered reproachfully. "It would be best to leave him alone. The sooner we get him back to Carson, the better."
Rodney eyed the slim woman and shrugged.
"Fine. If he's feeling sick he should've said something. His scratching is driving me nuts. I bet he's got something contagious, and knowing my luck, he's given it to me already!"
"Quit whining McKay, and get moving," Ronon ordered as he pushed past the annoyed scientist.
Rodney stomped off, following John and Ronon and ignoring Teyla's heavenward look.
Ten minutes later the team had safely returned through the 'gate, and John had begun to fill in Elizabeth on their uneventful mission.
"So, nothing to report. No people, no wraith…no nothing. Except miles of forest and lots of rain. Rodney did pick up some low-level energy spikes, but came to the conclusion it was a pretty useless mineral in the ground giving off anomalous readings. Then the deluge caused a flood and we were cut off from the 'gate until a few hours ago – hence our rather late return," he sighed.
John warily ran his hand through his wet hair and shivered.
"I really need a shower - I'm freezing."
"Are you feeling all right? You look a little – peakish," Elizabeth asked in concern, as she approached John and started to study his features.
John grimaced. "I'm fine. Just feeling a bit under the weather. A nice hot shower and I'll be fine - mom."
Elizabeth took a step towards her military leader and scrutinised his face. Her eyes widened and she stifled a giggle.
"What?" John asked irritably.
"Ah…I think you'd better head down to the infirmary, John," Elizabeth chuckled, as she bit her lip, trying to control herself.
"Why? What's so amusing?" John asked, as he scowled at McKay, who was now smirking and staring at John's face as Ronon and Teyla stared at John's face in amusement as well.
"You've got blotches coming up on your face, John," she chuckled. "Big bright red spots."
Teyla sighed and patted John on the arm in sympathy.
"I believe Colonel Sheppard has contracted Infant's Red-spot, Elizabeth," Teyla informed those present, in a slightly amused voice.
John shook his head, and snorted testily.
"I don't have… Red-spot, or whatever you just said. I'm fine!" he growled, absent-mindedly scratching at his chest.
"Yes, you have, Sheppard," Ronon grinned. "Had it myself as a kid. Bet you've got a sore throat, feel cold, and itch everywhere. There was an outbreak on the Athosian settlement a while back."
John eyed Ronon with contempt and huffed.
"I don't. Probably just got a cold coming on, and I'm pretty sure the itching is just from a new laundry detergent or something," he reasoned.
"Oh dear. Not you too, Colonel."
Carson strolled down the stairs towards John and tutted. Grabbing John's head, he examined the rashes and hummed.
"Aye. Infant's Red-spot. No doubt," he sighed. "It's the Pegasus Galaxy's version of something akin to chicken pox and measles, a sort of hybrid of the two, I'm afraid. Those with the ATA gene seem to be particularly susceptible, from what I've been reading in the Ancient Database, and experienced over the last few weeks," Carson explained.
"We had a small outbreak among the children in the Athosian settlement a few weeks back, nothing serious, but several of my team and a few scientists came down with it recently. It's nothing serious though, so no need to panic," Carson continued, as he eyed an obviously anxious Rodney. "Fortunately I've developed a vaccine now and everyone's been inoculated, except you and Rodney here, of course. We've had ten cases in all, eighty percent of those have had the ATA gene, and suffered slightly more severe symptoms too. I finalised the inoculation yesterday - obviously a little late for you. Not to worry though, everyone recovered pretty quickly."
Rodney inched away from John.
"Oh my God! You've infected me. I knew you were contagious. Didn't I say he was, Teyla? I feel sick all ready. I hate you, Sheppard! Why didn't I know about this epidemic, Carson?" Rodney whined as Carson smiled at the irate scientist.
"Calm down, Rodney. It's not an epidemic. It's only transmitted by very close contact, which explains why it's predominantly a childhood illness. Honestly, you'll burst a blood vessel one of these days!" Carson chided. "If you haven't developed the rash yet, and despite your whining I know you haven't, I can give you an anti-viral shot now, and that should limit the severity and longevity of the virus, hopefully. Worst case scenario for you – a few spots and a mild fever."
Rodney nodded enthusiastically and started to walk at a furious pace towards the doors out of the 'gate room. Looking back impatiently at Carson, he stopped and sighed.
"Oh, for goodness sake, Carson. Hurry up! The sooner I get my shot the better," he called back, and then strode off purposefully.
Carson chuckled and shook his head in disbelief.
"Can't say I've ever seen Rodney so keen to have a needle shoved in his bum. Come on, Colonel. Let's get you settled in a nice warm bed. You're going to be feeling miserable in a few hours, I'm afraid, so the sooner you're in my tender loving care, the better," Carson said sympathetically.
John stood motionless taking in the doctor's words.
"What? Don't I get a shot too?" He complained. "If Rodney gets one to make him better, why don't I?"
Carson strolled towards John, and patted him on the arm soothingly. He struggled to stifle a laugh on hearing John whine like a small child who wanted candy and was being denied.
"Yes, you can have a shot too, Colonel, though I'm afraid once the rashes have appeared the anti-viral medication doesn't seem to help much. The virus has to run its course." Carson grimaced as he saw the defeated look on his soon-to-be patient's face. "Not to worry, though, Son. You'll feel pretty lousy for a few days, but there aren't any reported complications with this, from what I can determine. Anti-histamines for the itching, anti-emetics for possible nausea, Tylenol for your sore throat, fever and headache, along with plenty of fluids and rest, and you'll be right as rain in a week or so," Carson assured a very pissed-off looking John.
"Great," John muttered under his breath. Turning to his friends he offered a fake smile, and then scowled at Teyla, Elizabeth and Ronon's barely concealed amused faces. "Okay. Very funny. I've got spots on my face and have the Pegasus Pox. Thanks for your support, guys. Glad to be of amusement," he uncharacteristically whined, as Carson led him away towards the infirmary.
"Obviously Carson forgot to mention irritability was a symptom too," Elizabeth laughed, resulting in a sulking John turning back and giving her the evil eye, before Teyla and Ronon burst simultaneously into laughter.
-oOo-
Four hours later and John wasn't finding his predicament to be a laughing matter – in any conceivable way. Carson hadn't been wrong when he'd predicted John would be feeling pretty lousy in a couple of hours. After he'd been examined thoroughly by Carson, and bloods had been taken, he'd at least been allowed to shower in the infirmary bathroom, before he'd been given clean scrubs, and tucked up in bed by a smiling, but comforting Melissa, who'd simply exclaimed, 'Oh Colonel, you do look poorly!' John had smiled stoically at the other nurses and medical personnel who gave him sympathetic, yet amused grins as they passed by his bed.
An hour later the nausea had hit, and after an hour of non-stop heaving, John had earned himself an IV – and even more sympathy from the nurses.
The down side to all of this was two-fold. Firstly, John felt like hell. His throat burned, his stomach ached, and that was when he wasn't puking. He felt cold and shaky, and his skin felt as if ants were crawling over him. Secondly, one Rodney McKay was situated in a bed next to him, complaining loudly and non-stop, having developed a single spot, and all in all looking pretty chipper, all things considered.
"I can't believe you infected me, Sheppard. Do you know how sensitive my skin is? I'll probably be scarred for life now," McKay whined in an accusatory voice, as he scratched the lone spot on his face.
John knew the best way to silence his complaining friend, and he just let the approaching wave of nausea take hold. He bolted upright and grabbed the basin on his bed, hugging it tightly as he retched for the twentieth time in an hour.
On hearing John's plight, Carson ran over and supported John, while rubbing his back in small circles.
"That's it, lad. Don't try and fight it, now," he soothed. "You've got it particularly bad, I'm afraid, though with you having the strongest natural manifestation of the ATA gene, that's hardly a surprise. I'm sorry there's nothing left to try and ease your nausea," Carson apologised as he lowered John back down, the dry heaves having finally ceased. Carson gently wiped John's face with a damp cloth he retrieved from a basin of water next to John's bed.
John managed a groan, and swallowed as he tried to settle his stomach.
"It's okay, Doc. Trust me to contract a disease that likes my ATA gene," he joked feebly.
McKay looked at John irritably.
"Carson? Can't you stop him throwing up? He's making me feel worse!" he asked in a small, sickly sounding voice. "I mean, I'm sick too, you know, and you know how much I hate vomit." Rodney's eyes lit up as an idea popped into his head. "Hey, can't you knock him out, or something?" On seeing Carson's shocked face, Rodney huffed irritably. "Not literally! You know, sedate him or something? Then he'd be happy and so would I."
Carson adjusted the setting on John's IV and scowled at McKay.
"No I bloody well can't, Rodney. Though I'm tempted to sedate you. Colonel Sheppard is feeling pretty miserable right now, and your girlish whining isn't helping any," Carson chastised. "You're only here because you insisted you couldn't take care of yourself in your own quarters, so quit moaning or I'll have Ronon escort you there now."
John chose that moment to join in the conversation.
"Just shut the hell up, Rodney," he groaned as he rolled onto his side and folded the pillow up over his hot spotty face.
Rodney gave John an amused grin.
"You know Sheppard, you sort of look like one of those Athosian berry cookies we had on the Mainland a few weeks ago. You know, all whitish-grey with big red spots on them?"
"Funny, Rodney. Just leave me to die in peace – PLEASE!" John moaned as loudly as he could, taking into consideration his pounding head, sort throat and complaining stomach.
"Grump," Rodney muttered. "Hey, Carson!" Rodney's face suddenly showed his annoyance. "Why's Sheppard got an IV and I haven't? You know, I think I'm dehydrated too, and you know what happens if I get dehydrated…"
"Shut up!" John growled before rolling over and turning his back on Rodney.
-oOo-
Rodney tapped away at his laptop, but found it hard to concentrate. John had finally settled down and had been dozing for the past several hours, much to the relief of Rodney's stomach, which groaned in sympathy every time John heaved.
Rodney had been lucky in that only a few rashes had developed over the last seven hours, though he felt a little warm, and his head ached. He smiled smugly to himself, thanking any deity he could think of that the anti-viral drugs seemed to be working for him and not for John. No, he thought to himself, that wasn't quite true. He was sorry for Sheppard, but pretty relieved he was being spared the man's horrendous symptoms himself. A simple childhood illness? Where did Carson get his information?
A noise next to him in the dimmed infirmary attracted his attention. Listening carefully, he settled back to his work when he heard nothing more. A few minutes later he found himself disturbed again by a soft moaning. Tutting in annoyance, he discarded his laptop, and got out of bed, listening as he padded along the infirmary floor.
Pulling back the privacy screens that Carson had insisted be used to separate John from him, he did a double take as he looked at John.
John's face was pale, except for the red spots on his face, and small, flushed areas of skin on his cheekbones. Sweat beaded on the man's brow, and he was shifting restlessly on his pillows. Suddenly, John's back arched off the bed, his limbs jerking and twitching violently.
"Oh shit," he muttered as he ran towards Carson's office. "Carson! Carson! Where the hell are you?" he yelled as he ran into the empty room.
"Dr. McKay, what on Earth's the matter?" Sarah, the nurse on duty, asked.
"You, nurse. Go get Dr. Beckett - NOW!"
Rodney ran back to Sheppard's bed, desperately trying to hold John down to prevent him from falling out of bed. Suddenly John relaxed; just as quickly as the seizure began, it had ended, with John's body slackening in Rodney's grip.
Rodney winced as he noticed the heat radiating from John's body.
On hearing the doctor approach, Rodney sighed in relief.
"About damn time! Does a patient have to be dying around here before you decide to put in an appearance?"
Carson's face betrayed his irritation at Rodney's outburst.
"Charming, Rodney. What's all the fuss about this time?" he asked wearily.
Rodney gave Carson one of his 'are you stupid?' looks, and pointed to the eerily still man on the bed to the side of him.
"In case you hadn't noticed – Doctor, your patient, a certain Lt. Colonel Sheppard looks like he's dying! He just had some sort of seizure, for God's sake!"
Carson furrowed his eyebrows and pushed past the physicist, exhaling in both concern and surprise when he took in the sight before him.
"Oh, Colonel. Why is it always you, Son?" he murmured as he examined his patient. "Sarah? Let's get your side up on the colonel's bed, and then can you get his temp for me, love?" Carson asked the pretty nurse, as he took John's BP. She immediately pulled up the rail on the opposite side of John's bed to where Carson stood, before leaving.
"Rodney? Make yourself useful and help me roll colonel onto his side," Carson ordered.
Rodney's face wrinkled in disgust.
"You don't expect me to actually touch him again do you?" he asked in disbelief. "I mean, he's all hot and sweaty and everything, and you know how much trouble I've had with my back recently."
"Rodney, Sarah's just gone to get a thermometer, and I need your help," Carson entreated.
Capitulating reluctantly, Rodney helped the doctor roll John to his side and watched as Carson lifted the damp scrub top, revealing John's mottled skin. He used his stethoscope to listen to John's chest, and studied the rashes on his patient's back.
"Damn," Carson complained as he and a recently returned Sarah returned John to his back. "I wasn't expecting this, but I should've damn well been prepared."
"Dr. Beckett? The colonel's temp is forty point three," Sarah interrupted, as Carson examined John's neck and head.
Carson sighed as he retrieved his medical scanner from his lab coat pocket. Scanning John from head to toe, he paused on the area above his head, and exhaled in concern.
Rodney looked from the scanner to Carson's face, and confusion marked his features.
"What? What's wrong?"
Carson let his hands drop to his side, and he carefully returned the hand-held device to his pocket.
"The colonel has developed inflammation in his brain – in this case encephalitis, I'm guessing. I'll need to confirm it with a lumbar puncture. It's a rare complication seen in Chicken pox on Earth. It didn't occur to me that this was a possibility. Damn, how could I have been so careless!" he berated himself.
"And?" Rodney asked impatiently. Pausing, he grimaced and looked at Carson's now creased and worried features. "That's bad, isn't it?"
Closing his eyes as he suddenly comprehended the significance of Carson's words, Rodney let out a huff of breath.
"Of course it's bad. It's Sheppard we're talking about. Only he could get the measles-pox and suffer a rare complication."
Carson nodded, and his eyes sought the physicists.
"It's bad, Rodney."
Turning to his nurse, Carson gave her a list of instructions. When he'd finished, and the nurse had walked off briskly, Carson took Rodney by the arm and manoeuvred him away from John's bed, and smiled grimly as Sarah returned with her arms full of equipment.
"You'd best be getting yourself back in bed now. I've got a long night ahead of me, and I want you tucked up firmly in bed so I don't have to worry about you," he ordered gently. "Sarah? When you've finished can you start Dr. McKay on normal saline please? And let's get Melissa back here to help with the lumbar puncture."
The nurse looked up as she secured an oxygen mask over John's face and nodded.
"Yes, Dr. Beckett," she answered calmly.
Rodney's face took on an anxious expression.
"Why am I getting an IV now? Am I going to get sick like Sheppard?"
The doctor patted Rodney's arm, as he tucked him in bed.
"No, I don't believe so. For one, you started the anti-viral treatment before you developed the rash. Also, you've had the gene therapy, and don't have the unusually strong and natural manifestation the colonel has of the ATA gene. I just want to be cautious, that's all."
"Right," Rodney answered distractedly, as he looked over to where the nurse was hooking John up to a heart monitor. "Is he going to be okay?" he asked quietly.
Carson shrugged, and Rodney noticed how tired and strained his features looked.
"Honestly? I don't know. This is extremely serious and has a high mortality rate."
"You can do something for him though? I mean there has to be something you can do…"
Rodney's voice trailed off as he looked at Carson in desperation.
"All I can do is up the anti-viral meds, but that doesn't come without its own problems. Other than that I can him support him as best I can," Carson answered matter-of-factly, and Rodney didn't miss the sense of helplessness in the doctor's voice.
-oOo-
"Carson?" Elizabeth's anxious voice caught the doctor off-guard, and he jerked away from the notes he was studying. On seeing Carson's response, Elizabeth smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you…How is he?" she asked in a small voice.
"Very poorly, I'm afraid. The lumber puncture confirmed what I expected. John has encephalitis. I'm doing everything I can, but I'm afraid it's a matter of wait and see," he explained tiredly.
Elizabeth nodded. She'd been expecting to hear those words from Carson, but that didn't make the situation any easier to come to terms with.
"To think we were all joking about this earlier. It's not a laughing matter now, is it?" she asked bitterly.
Carson stood and squeezed Elizabeth's shoulder by way of comfort.
"No, it's not, love. On the plus side, Rodney's doing extremely well, in fact over the last few hours he's improved quite a bit. I don't think we need worry about him having the same problem, though it was unlikely anyway."
Elizabeth smiled sadly.
"Yes, thank goodness for small mercies…Can I see John?" she asked hesitantly.
"Of course you can, lass," Carson answered soothingly. "Though I should warn you he's on oxygen, and hooked up to various machines. His breathing isn't too good at the moment, which isn't entirely unexpected given the seriousness of his condition." Carson paused and grimaced. "I'm hoping I won't have to intubate him, but it could be on the cards if he doesn't settle down soon."
Carson led Elizabeth to the cordoned off area of the infirmary designated the Critical Care Unit.
Elizabeth's hand involuntarily found her mouth as she gasped at the scene in front of her. Melissa was sponging down a writhing, moaning and obviously delirious John. Elizabeth approached cautiously and studied her military commander carefully.
John's face was deathly white, save for the spots scattered across his pained features. His hair clung to his sweaty forehead, and he was shifting restlessly in bed. She could hear soft moans emanating from under the oxygen mask covering his face.
His torso was naked, a sheet covering him just above his hips, and all of his exposed flesh was covered with angry-looking rashes. An IV snaked from each arm, and wires led from John's chest to a heart monitor.
"Oh God," Elizabeth muttered under her breath.
Carson instantly patted Elizabeth's arm, trying to soothe her distress.
"Aye, I know. He doesn't look too good, does he? We're honestly doing all we can to help him fight this, Elizabeth. Our main goal is to keep his temperature down and keep his vitals stable." Seeing Elizabeth's shocked face, Carson gently led her away from John's bed. "Right. You've seen him. Why don't you go and visit Rodney for a while? I need to check the colonel over anyway," he explained.
Elizabeth walked wordlessly away, and, approaching Rodney's bed, smiled, summoning every ounce of self-control she had.
"Rodney? How are you feeling? Better, I hope?"
The physicist looked warily at Atlantis' leader and nodded very slightly.
"Yes, yes. Much better…How is he?" he asked nervously.
Elizabeth sat herself down on a chair next to Rodney's bed, and briefly closed her eyes to compose herself before answering.
"Not so good, but Carson's hopeful his treatment will work," she replied with a slight quiver in her voice, as she desperately tried to erase visions of a writhing, moaning John from her head.
"Oh…right," was all Rodney could bring himself to say.
Elizabeth had been a diplomat long enough to be able to read Rodney's body language quickly and efficiently; she knew Rodney was seeing through her attempt to hide the gravity of John's present condition.
"Truthfully, he's in a serious condition and Carson's pretty worried about him," she said, deciding honesty was the best policy. "Can I get you anything?" Elizabeth continued, trying to change the subject.
"No…no, I'm good, I'm good," Rodney answered, flinching as he realised he'd adopted a well-known Sheppardism. "I mean, I'm fine…thanks," he corrected himself. "Did you know he's had three seizures in the last hour?" At the surprised look on Elizabeth's face, Rodney bit his bottom lip, and continued. "The more seizures he has, the less chance he has of coming out of this without brain damage. Did you know that?" he asked rhetorically. "Of course you did. This is so unfair!"
Elizabeth smiled gingerly at the physicist, as she stood.
"I know, Rodney, I know. I really have to go and do some paperwork; I'm going to be snowed under if I don't make a start on it. Get well soon - please," she said warmly, as she went to leave before her emotions got the better of her.
Rodney sighed and blinked back tears from his hot, burning eyes.
"Do you know what I said to Sheppard the last time I spoke to him?" he asked as Elizabeth started to walk away. "I told him he looked like an Athosian berry cookie. That could be the last thing I'm ever going to say to him. Now he's dying, and all I'll remember is what a heartless jerk I was when he was so sick and could've used a few sympathetic words," he paused as his breath hitched, and looked across at Elizabeth, who had turned around to face him.
"He's not dying, Rodney, and God forbid that he does, John would've found your joke funny – you know that. He would neither expect nor want your sympathy. He also would've said the same thing to you if the situation had been reversed. Don't punish yourself. He wouldn't want that," Elizabeth assured the physicist. Turning away she smiled. "I really must get that paperwork done, Rodney. I'll come back later. Get some rest, okay?"
"Right. Of course – paperwork to do and whatnot," Rodney replied repetitively. He watched as Elizabeth turned back to look at the area of the infirmary where John was, to all intents and purposes, fighting for his life. "Why do you have to be such a shameless attention seeker, Sheppard?" Rodney quietly questioned, as he shut his eyes to try and get some much-needed rest.
-oOo-
Carson sighed for the - damn, he'd lost count. What was it now? The tenth time that night? He looked down at his patient and shook his head.
"What am I going to do with you, Son?" he quietly enquired of the man breathing rhythmically in front of him. "Why do you have to give me even more grey hairs?" he asked rhetorically, as he listened with his stethoscope to his patient's chest. "Nice, even bilateral breath sounds. That's something, I suppose," he muttered, as he turned to a concerned looking Melissa.
"Dr. Beckett. Why don't you get some rest? Dr. Lambert can watch over the colonel for a few hours. I promise I'll inform you if there are any changes the second they happen," she entreated.
Carson ran a hand through his lank hair, which was long overdue for a wash, just as his face was in need of a shave.
"Thanks, love, but I really don't want to leave him now…I just wouldn't feel right if…if anything happened and I wasn't here," he replied quietly.
The last hour had seen Carson intervening before John had hit rock bottom. He'd decided to intubate thirty minutes previously, when John had begun to show signs of respiratory distress. He'd taken the proverbial bull by the horns and acted prophylactically, not wanting to intubate John in an emergency situation. He'd elected to place John in a medically induced coma, rather than waiting for his patient to get there by himself, and had put him on full life support.
"Can I get you some coffee?" Melissa asked softly, interrupting Carson's thoughts.
Carson smiled wearily and nodded his affirmation.
"Aye, that'd be nice, lass."
Carson smiled at the nurse and then returned to his patient, and shook his head.
"You and your super gene have got you into a right mess this time, haven't they, Colonel?" he stated, as he scribbled down readings from the various monitors attached to John. "Well, at least your O2 sats are looking a wee bit better," he said to himself. "Shame your temp isn't coming down any. Don't make me get out the chemical cold packs, John," he begged of his patient.
"Carson?"
Rodney's voice interrupted Carson's private discussion.
"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked the physicist in an exasperated voice.
Rodney slumped in the bedside chair which had been previously vacant, being careful not to tug the IV in his hand, as he precariously pushed the IV stand next to him.
"Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd come and keep Sheppard company. You know, team spirit and all," he replied flippantly. Suddenly becoming serious, Rodney looked across at John and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "He's going to die, isn't he?" he stated in resignation. "From a stupid kid's illness. How fucked up is this galaxy? A decent person like Sheppard, who's escaped death too many times to count on one hand, is going to die from the damned Pegasus Pox. Where's the justice in that, Carson?"
Carson put his head in his hands and groaned before lifting his head to answer.
"Sometimes, there is no justice, Rodney. But, I'll be damned if I'll let him go without a fight, and neither should you. He's a strong man, so let's not give up on him just yet." Carson tugged at Rodney's arm. "Come on. Bed for you. I'll wake you if anything happens – I promise. I know you'd want to be here if…if things don't go so well," he stuttered.
Rodney swallowed, and nodded as he fought to control himself.
As he eased himself into bed, he looked up at Carson, his eyes begging Carson to save his friend.
"Don't let him die, Carson. It just wouldn't be fair after all he's gone through. I mean this is the man survived four wraith feedings and came back looking younger than he was before…"
Carson chuckled and patted Rodney's arm.
"Aye, that he did. I'll do my best – you know that," he replied resolutely. "Get some sleep. The last thing I need is you getting sicker."
Rodney closed his eyes and willed sleep to come. Sheppard wouldn't die, he couldn't. He was Colonel Invincible, wasn't he? Rodney fell asleep with that thought firmly entrenched in his mind.
-oOo-
John's world was full of pain. His head pounded relentlessly, the pain akin to an axe being thrust into his skull repeatedly. He felt nauseous and hot, shivery and sweaty.
Exhaustion tugged at him, and his skin felt as if termites were embedding themselves in it.
Groaning, he tried to pry open his eyes, but they were glued shut, a heavy weight pressing on his eyelids. Breathing was becoming difficult; the harder he tried to breathe the more laboured his breaths became.
John knew instinctively that he was dying. He idly thought how unfair that was. After everything he'd survived, all he'd been through…to die now seemed – futile, pointless. He was surprised he wasn't afraid. He didn't want to die, he wanted to continue to fight, and not leave everyone behind, but he accepted it was out of his hands.
John just wanted to sleep now, and if that meant giving up, well, he'd survived longer in the Pegasus Galaxy than he ever thought he would, and that was something, wasn't it? As he struggled to draw in a breath, he was distantly aware of a voice telling him it was time for him to sleep, and he inwardly smiled, knowing Carson was taking care of him and not letting him suffer any more. He was vaguely aware of a cool liquid entering his veins. He let go, and accepted his fate without question.
-oOo-
Rodney woke up suddenly, bolting upright in bed, sweat dripping down his face.
"Sheppard!" he cried out. Looking around the infirmary he saw a nurse sitting sipping coffee in a quiet corner of the infirmary. Getting out of bed, forgetting about his IV, he winced as the cannula ripped from his hand. Traipsing drowsily towards the CCU, he hesitated as he heard Carson's voice talking quietly.
Entering the curtained off area, he did a double take as he realised Beckett was quietly talking to a conscious John.
As Carson heard Rodney approaching he smiled warmly.
"Afternoon, sleepy head. Glad you could join us. Our favourite patient here recently decided to join the land of the living again, and was asking about you," he informed Rodney in a cheerful voice.
Rodney stared at Carson, and then at Sheppard, who had an oxygen masked placed over his face, with half-open eyes peering directly back at the scientist.
"He's okay? I mean, he's all right? Not dead or anything? It's just I had this dream, and he died, he gave up, and you couldn't revive him…and I thought it was real. God, it was so real, and I thought – I really believed we'd lost him this time. I begged him to fight, not to roll over and die, but he wouldn't listen to me…"
Carson quickly thrust a chair behind Rodney's legs and sighed as he noticed the blood dripping from Rodney's hand.
"'Mmm fine, Rodney…just' tired. You…look like…hell," John ground out from beneath his mask, as Carson pressed a wad of cotton wool firmly onto Rodney's dripping wound.
"He's okay…he's really okay. Thank God," Rodney repeated in a dazed but happy voice. Suddenly coming to his senses, his face grew angry and he scowled at John. "I hate you, Sheppard. Really, I do. You know how high my blood pressure is, yet you still keep doing this to me…"
Rodney closed his eyes as hot tears of relief threatened to spill. He swallowed as he heard a weak and muffled 'Sorry,' emanating from John.
"Of course you are," he muttered to himself as he felt Carson squeeze his shoulder.
"He's much better, Rodney. We had a pretty horrendous night when it looked like I might lose him, then suddenly he turned the corner late this morning, and a couple of hours ago I was able to extubate him. He's doing remarkably well." Carson cheerfully explained.
Rodney slumped in his chair and let his head flop forward.
"I never want to see another Athosian Berry cookie as long as I live," he muttered under his breath. Rodney's head snapped up as he felt a tentative hand on his arm.
"Hey…like those…cookies," John slurred as he slipped back into a deep sleep.
Rodney smiled affectionately at the sleeping man.
"You would, wouldn't you?" he asked rhetorically, as he slumped again in the chair.
-oOo-
John didn't know how long he'd been asleep. He gradually became aware of noise around him, and then slowly and carefully opened his eyes, taking in the muted lights above him. He shifted his head slightly to the right, and winced as he felt the pull of a nasal cannula beneath his nose.
Focusing his eyes, he blinked until a sleeping Rodney came into focus, fast asleep and drooling in the chair next to John's bed. John couldn't help but let out a small chuckle as he saw his friend slumped there.
"Colonel. You with us again, Lad?" Carson cheerily greeted John.
John frowned before answering.
"I think so," he answered in a gruff voice. A tickle suddenly formed in his throat, and John found himself coughing violently, spasms wracking his limp body. Carson was by his side instantly, with a glass of water and a straw, which he retrieved from John's bedside. He swiftly and gently lifted John up so he could drink from the glass. John sipped the cool liquid eagerly, sighing softly in contentment, as his sore and burning throat was soothed.
"Is that better?" Carson asked as he lowered John back down against his pillows and peered at the readings on the monitor by John's bed.
"Yeah. Thanks, Doc," he whispered weakly. "How long was I out this time?"
Carson exhaled and stretched, popping abused bones in his back as he straightened.
"About twenty-four hours. You're making great progress, I'm pleased to say."
John nodded, and turned his head slightly to gaze at Rodney.
"I hope he hasn't been here all this time. He's sick too, you know," John stated in a concerned voice.
Carson smiled fondly at his patient.
"Of course he hasn't. He's only been here a couple of hours. He's recovering from the virus very well, nearly back to his usual charming self," Carson reported happily.
John let his eyes slide shut as sleep pulled at him again.
"Good," he mumbled sleepily. "Can't have him getting sicker…"
Carson grinned as John's breathing evened out as he drifted into a deep slumber.
-oOo-
When John next woke it was to dimmed infirmary lights. He searched around his bed and found nobody sitting keeping a vigil this time.
John realised with relief that his heart monitor was no longer beeping, and one of his IV's had gone. As he shifted slightly in his bed he sighed when he discovered his catheter had also disappeared. The nasal cannula remained, but John thought, all things considered, it was the least worst piece of apparatus to be left with – that and a single IV he could live with.
A cheerful Rodney, walking purposefully in his direction carrying a tray interrupted John from his musings.
"Colonel! You're awake," Rodney said brightly.
John snorted and eyed the physicist suspiciously.
"They don't call you a genius for nothing, do they?"
Rodney ignored John's sarcastic quip, and put the tray on John's table.
"Er, Carson said I could treat you to some real food, and I cleared this with him…so eat up," he smiled mischievously.
John studied the proffered food closely, and the corners of his lips twitched in amusement. On a plate in the centre of the tray sat a lone cookie. It was a whitish-grey, with bright red berries littering it. The cookie had been adorned with two raisin eyes, and a smiling mouth piped with icing had been added, rather unprofessionally. Spikes of black liquorice stood up on end, representing untamed hair.
Rodney grinned happily.
"Well, you said you liked Athosian berry cookies…so I got you one from the mainland," he said in a voice which illustrated how pleased he was with himself. "Thought I'd personalise it for you," he added, as he raised his eyebrows.
John studied the cookie and gave Rodney a lopsided grin.
"Cool," he responded happily. "Thanks."
Rodney sat down on the ever-present bedside chair.
"You're welcome. You know, I was wondering…" he began.
"Hmmm?" John questioned around a mouthful of cookie.
Rodney bit his lip as if he was deciding whether to pose his question.
"Well, I was wondering if you had spots everywhere?" he asked mischievously.
John stopped chewing and looked at the physicist in confusion.
"What d'you mean?" he asked as he swallowed his mouthful.
"Well, have you got spots…you know…everywhere?"
John suddenly understood Rodney's question.
"I have no idea," he answered honestly.
Seeing Rodney's disappointment, he sighed and lifted the blanket and sheet covering him. Gingerly lifting his gown too, he peered underneath the lifted item of clothing and swallowed.
"That would be a yes," he answered uneasily.
"Ouch," Rodney remarked uncomfortably.
"Yeah," John agreed, "no kidding."
Rodney's eyes twinkled as a thought came to him.
"You know that could prove to be a positive thing," he remarked casually.
John frowned and shrugged.
"Don't see how."
Rodney grinned widely, as he stood and started to walk away.
"Well, you could always ask one of Carson's pretty nurses to put some soothing calamine lotion on your…"
"McKay!" John yelled as his cheeks flushed.
Rodney turned around and smiled smugly.
"Enjoy your cookie, Sheppard," he laughed as he walked away.
The end.