Title: The Deal
Rating: K+
Pairing: Chuck/Weir – friendship or otherwise, can be seen either way
Spoilers: First Strike
Summary: Following the end of 'First Strike' Chuck visits the infirmary.

Author's Note: Some of Chuck's back story is courtesy of Mr Campbell himself. Thanks Chuck!

Chuck sat perched impatiently on the edge of the bed, tapping his feet to try and ease some of the nervous frustration whilst the nurse continued to fuss over the cuts on his face. Whilst he wasn't exactly a medical professional he knew enough to surmise that since his eyes were still facing in the same direction and he still remembered his name, rank and number, his head injury couldn't be that bad. As far as he was concerned it was little more than cuts from flying glass and bruises from being thrown across the rear of the control room with the force of the blast. Colonel Sheppard had all but ordered him to go and get it cleaned up before he returned to his station however and the nurse here had insisted upon running a barrage of tests before she was convinced that there was no permanent damage. Tests that took far too long as far as he was concerned; they were in real trouble right now and he needed to be at his post. Atlantis was running on a skeleton crew even before all the injuries from the blast and they could do without people unnecessarily being away from their stations for any length of time.

"Almost done," the nurse said with a slight, knowing smile, apparently well aware of how keen he was to get back to work.

"Good," he replied shortly, barely flinching as she wiped the antiseptic over a particularly deep laceration. He had other distractions on his mind right now.

"Well, you'll be pleased to know you won't need any stitches," she continued her manner still pleasant, forgiving him his irritability in light of the situation, "But I'll just need to apply a couple of steri-strips-"

"Is that gonna take long?" he interrupted with an exasperated, impatient huff, his eyes automatically rolling.

Her hands planted themselves firmly on her hips as she looked at him pointedly.

"Look," she said in a kind but firm manner, finally facing his mood which she had purposely ignored it up until now, "I know you guys want to get back to work, okay? And believe me we want you to as well. I know we're in trouble and we need all the hands we can get right now, but there's no point in you going out there only to collapse in half an hour. Let us do our job properly so you can do yours, agreed?"

He sighed and nodded, running his fingers back through his hair as he allowed himself to relax for just a moment. She was right of course. They needed to be on top form right now and for that he had to stop stressing out and start acting in a sensible and reasonable manner. But there was just no way he could forget that they had less than twenty four hours until the power ran out and when it did...

"I'll get the strips and give you a shot of antibiotics just in case," she said with a reassuring smile, patting his arm for good measure, "Then you can go. I'll just be a moment."

Unable to sit still whilst he waited for her to return, he hopped down from the bed and took a slow walk towards the doorway of the side room, peering out at the activity going on in other parts of the infirmary. Soldiers and his fellow technicians made up most of the patients, many with cuts and bruises, some having stitches done, some with broken limbs to set. Ronon was a few beds away, sitting stony faced whilst a doctor checked out a deep wound he had sustained.

By far the most activity however was going on in the far room. Doctors and nurses working as one well oiled unit, checking monitors, dressing wounds and doing tests. Even from this distance he could see the concerned look on Dr Keller's face as she looked at whatever was on a data pad that had just been handed to her. Under all the equipment, blankets, bandages and a neck brace it was hard to see anything of Dr Weir herself. The only indication that there was a person lying there was the slow rising and falling of the sheets as she breathed and the barely visible wisps of dark hair poking out underneath the bandages wrapped around her head.

She appeared to be in a bad way.

"Is everything alright?"

He looked up to see the nurse had returned, syringe, bottle and packet of strips in her hand.

"Yeah..." he answered in a non-committal manner, crossing back over to the bed as he tried hard to retain an air of professional detachment. He needed to be able to go out there and get on with his job. He couldn't afford to be distracted by things he had no control over. It wouldn't help anyone.

He barely felt it as the nurse gave him the injection.

"How's Dr Weir doing?" he asked eventually, unable to hold his silence any longer even though he kind of disliked himself for asking. Part of him just felt like it wasn't his place to know and part like it was ill timed to admit his concerns when there were other things to be worrying about. Neither however could override the part of him which just had to know.

"It's still too early to tell," the nurse said quietly, her voice distracted as she concentrated on fixing the strips to his face, "She took a big hit. We still need to do more tests."

"Right..."

But try as he might he found that he couldn't just leave it with that amount of uncertainty.

"What do you think?"

The nurse looked at him curiously, perhaps wondering why he was asking. He wasn't sure if she found the reason but she answered him regardless.

"Head injuries are tricky," she explained, "You can never really tell. She'll need some luck."

He nodded, taking a pause to digest that.

"Am I done?" he asked after a moment.

The nurse nodded her face somewhat sympathetic although he wasn't entirely sure why.

"If you start to feel unwell – headache, dizziness, blurred vision – come straight back, okay?"

"Sure".

He knew he should head straight back to his post and that he had more important things he needed be doing, but it felt wrong to just leave without at least taking a moment to see her. He was sure she'd do the same for him after all.

With everyone else so busy it was easy to walk into the side room where Dr Weir lay still unconscious. Surprisingly there was only one nurse in there at the time. She looked up when he entered, smiled in a friendly manner but continued her work without challenging him.

He walked up to the bed, his arms firmly cross over his chest as he looked down at its occupant. In a way he felt awkward and out of place but he also knew that someone should be here and that he was as good as anyone. Or at least that in the absence of anyone who knew her better, he'd do.

The irony was of course that he was very nearly not here at all. He had never intended to go into the military. Certainly didn't want to. And now here he was in a flying city spaceship in a different galaxy, running from life sucking aliens and killer machines. He could almost laugh which, in their current situation was a little worrying and made him wonder if he'd hit his head harder than he thought or if the stress had done bad things to his state of mind.

His grandfather had been a navy man and when it had become clear that his parents simply couldn't afford to put him through college it had been suggested that Chuck follow in his footsteps and take a navy scholarship. They'd pay for his education and he'd only have to serve a few years before he could go off and do what he wanted if he so wished. To be honest, he wasn't overly keen on the idea but in the end he didn't see he had much choice. His older brother was already successful in banking and whilst his mom consistently said that it didn't matter what he did she'd still be proud of him, her worried and mildly disappointed looks as he contemplated his future were hardly encouraging. In the end he'd agree to go, looking upon it as character building in the least. With any luck he'd get to visit a few nice, hot countries, get some experience under his belt and jump out on civvie street as soon as he was allowed.

Of course he'd then ended up getting assigned as communications officer on board a submarine which wasn't quite what he had in mind.

It was hardly a prospect to be overjoyed at; weeks in a small space with fifty other guys? Wasn't exactly his idea of fun. Strangely enough though he'd gotten used to it and had even grown to enjoy it and feel at home there. He liked the camaraderie. He liked the feeling of being useful, of having a valuable skill and being respected for it. It was those feelings that had convinced him not to leave the navy when his time was up, those feelings which had made him agree to work on developing and using some of the most recent and high tech equipment available and those feelings that had ultimately led him to the Antarctic and consequently to Atlantis.

He had seen combat before and wasn't exactly new to stressful and dangerous situations. He'd been in the utterly terrifying position of being on a sub when a fire broke out that had ended up killing four of the crew and leaving everyone else's lives in great danger. And yet nothing had prepared him for all he had faced since coming to Atlantis. For a long time he had felt out of his depth here, surrounded by equipment he didn't fully understand, in a situation with little to no backup and facing the unknown every day. He was more than happy to take a back seat, to do his assigned job and then head back to his quarters at the end of the shift preferably without getting involved in all the drama.

And then Peter Grodin had died.

He was thrown into Peter's job at the time because, quite simply, he was the most qualified to do it; under the pressure of the moment someone had to step up and no one else had the requisite experience. Once the crisis was adverted however he had soon gone to Dr Weir to ask her to find someone else to take over full time, knowing for certain he didn't want or need the pressure that came with the position.

He had expected no argument from her, it was a reasonable request after all and it was surely no skin off her nose who manned the gate desk. Upon his request she'd looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before asking him to step into her office. He had done so without question, taking it as an order and expecting her to simply go through the requisite 'are you sure?' questions before she agreed. Much to his surprise though, all her formality had gone. She simply wanted to talk. She'd even offered him coffee.

She'd asked a lot of questions that seemed unrelated to the matter at hand – his family, his education, his time in the navy. She'd admitted that she didn't know him as well as she should but that she had taken notice of him over the year they had been here. She said that she had seen his reliability and how well he worked with people – even Rodney and Radek when they were at their most temperamental and ranting. She had asked him, not ordered him, to take Peter's former position. She'd said that she needed people around her who she could count on.

As much as he wouldn't admit it, that had meant a lot to him. It was her trust and confidence in him that had made him take the job and in hindsight he was grateful to her for that.

And now he had to see her like this.

Whilst on the surface he remained utterly professional, still that reliable person she could always count on, he couldn't help the more personal and more unpleasant thoughts that flitted through his mind as he stood here. What if she was left unable to carry on her job in any way? What if she didn't make it at all?

It just wasn't right. Elizabeth Weir was the face of Atlantis and he found it very hard to imagine it without her.

"I'll do you a deal okay," he said softly after a moment, "You wake up soon and we'll make sure you have a city to wake up to, right?"

Silence was his only reply.

Without hesitation, he reached out and squeezed her hand lightly, far more personal than he would have dared if she was awake. He hoped she might respond, might squeeze his hand back, but there was nothing.

"Well since you didn't say otherwise I'll take that deal if you don't mind," he continued with a slight smile.

And with that he turned and headed quickly back to the control room, determined to play his role in keeping his side of that bargain. He wouldn't let her trust in him down.