Author's Note and Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters. I'm not sure what drabble is, but if it's a crazy idea that pops into your head and has virtually no meaning, then this is sheer drabble.

Mom Always Told Me

John Sheppard winced as the gurney came to a sudden stop, jarring his injured leg.

"Sorry, Colonel," apologized Carson Beckett. "Let's see what you've done to yourself this time." Beckett began peeling the bloody field dressing from Sheppard's leg as Marcy, one of the nurses, began taking vitals.

John grit his teeth as the doctor probed the bullet wound in his upper thigh. "Doc, I'd like to keep that leg, if you don't mind," he whined.

Beckett straightened after a few minutes, mentally noting Sheppard's vitals as Marcy rattled them off. Amy joined them carrying an IV bag, a sheet, and hospital gown, which she deposited on the chair next to the bed.

Beckett nodded his thanks and turned back to Sheppard. "Well, Colonel, it's not too bad. The bleeding isn't too severe, but there's no exit wound, so that means a wee bit of surgery. We'll need to get you changed, x-rayed, and an IV started." He noticed Sheppard looking anxiously at the gown on the adjacent chair. "Don't even start, colonel, I can't have you in scrubs with a leg wound."

John nodded and, although he didn't look surprised, he did look unusually uncomfortable. "Colonel, are you all right? I might can give you a little something to help with the pain while we are getting you ready for surgery."

"No . . . it's not that. I'm okay."

Beckett thought Sheppard still seemed off, but had no idea what to do. He looked up at Marcy, who just shrugged her shoulders. Apparently she was aware of it too. Well, they'd just have to figure it out later.

"Marcy, help me sit him up so we can get his shirt off." Marcy and Carson each took an arm and helped Sheppard move to a sitting position so they could pull his shirt off. They slid the hospital gown up his arms and Beckett tied it loosely around his neck. John groaned at the flash of pain as they helped him lay back against the pillows.

"Easy, Colonel. We'll have you settled in just a minute. Now the pants." Beckett noticed the rise in anxiety as he unbuckled Sheppard's pants.

"I can do it," offered Sheppard nervously.

"Don't be silly, lad, you're injured," said Beckett soothingly. "It's not like we haven't done this before." He was surprised to find resistance as he tried to slide the colonel's BDUs down over his hips. It was then that he noticed Sheppard hanging onto the waistband of his pants.

"Colonel?" Marcy looked as confused as he felt. What was wrong with the man?

"Uh, Carson . . . you have to treat your patients with dignity, right? I mean, you wouldn't laugh at them . . . would you?"

Carson's feelings were almost hurt at the implication that he and his staff were anything less than professional. "Of course, lad, we always respect our patients. I would think that you, of all people, would know that."

John's face reddened slightly. "I know you do, it's just that . . . "

Carson frowned in sympathy. "What's bothering you, son?"

"I . . . I didn't follow my mother's advice this morning."

Beckett looked up at Marcy, their faces reflecting their mutual confusion. Whatever was bothering Sheppard seemed to take a back seat to the pain the man was experiencing. He gripped the side of the bed and closed his eyes against a sudden wave of agony. When he finally relaxed, he didn't replace his grip on the top of his pants. Marcy and Beckett each took hold of his pants and slid them off, trying to move the injured man as little as possible. Beckett immediately pressed a thick mass of dressing against the still oozing wound.

As they began to pull the gown down to cover the colonel, they got a glimpse of what he was embarrassed about. His boxers apparently used to be blue, but were now faded to near white, the fabric worn so thin as to be almost be transparent in places. The seam along the right hip had a rather large hole, as did the crotch. Carson and Marcy had the gown down and the sheet across the man's hips rather quickly, but not before they understood his unease.

John clutched the top of the sheet. "They were the only ones clean this morning."

Carson noticed that Marcy had managed to keep a straight face, but her eyes were dancing. "I'm guessing your mom told you not to wear dirty or raggedy underwear because – "

" – you never know when you'll be in an accident," John finished for her. "Yeah, almost every time I left the house. Unfortunately, my only choices this morning were dirty or raggedy. I'll pick raggedy over dirty any day of the week when we're talking underwear."

"And we thank you for that," replied Carson.

"You won't . . . tell anyone, will you?" asked John, his face still flushing.

"It'll be our little secret," said Carson, reassuring John with a pat on the arm. "Oh, uh, Colonel . . . we'll have to remove those too in a bit. Do you want them back?"

John looked offended. "Of course I do. That's my cue that I absolutely have to get my laundry done. You wouldn't want me showing up in dirty underwear, would you?"

"There is one other option," suggested Marcy, smiling mischievously.

Carson and Marcy both laughed as John turned an even deeper red. "We're not even going there."

THE END