Summary: - This is going to be a series of one shots about John Sheppard. How he became the man he is, and his relationships with others. It will cover all 5 seasons in no particular order. Oh, bye the way, as I'm writing it there will be Shep whump.

Disclaimer: - Wish it were mine – 'cause if it was, I would have the boys in my living room every Monday night!

Warnings:- None for this one. Well maybe a very little bad language

Thanks to Shepsgirl 72 for the beta, I really appreciate it!- Any mistakes are mine.

INFIRMARY BLUES

Sheppard had known something was wrong since the early hours of the morning. He had woken up feeling nauseous and soon after "Ralph" and "Hughie" had pretty much been his constant companions all night, as John staggered back and forth to the head, chucking up last month's meatloaf, until all that was left was a bad case of the dry heaves. He was exhausted, sore, shivery and his head was bursting, but he didn't want or need any help. It was obviously something he'd eaten, or maybe one of those 24hr bugs, so he certainly wasn't going to bother Beckett with that. A few hours sleep, and he would be as good as new.

Later that morning, sitting on the edge of his bed, Sheppard knew work, hell any kind of activity that involved moving, was out for today. He felt like crap, and now his stupid legs had decided to let him down too, for during the last visit to "Puke Central" his legs buckled, only sheer luck preventing a face plant on the floor.

But it hadn't been 24hours yet, right? If he could just take a day off, maybe two, holed up in his room he would be just fine. Swallowing, trying to moisten his dry throat, John clicked on his radio.

"Elizabeth" Damn, that sounded weak. "It's John. I need a couple of days off, to take care of some uhm, personal business."

Weir was suspicious; Sheppard just wasn't one of these people that took time off, unless forced to.

"Are you alright, John? Your voice sounds a little choked, should I give Beckett a call?"

Damn! Okay, so plan A was out. Maybe if he admitted "something", then she might back off. "I'm good, Elizabeth, just a bit of a cold, so there's no need to bother Carson. Look, I have a stack of stuff to do," boy that was lame, "So as we're not facing imminent death at the moment," nice one, John, a bit of humour never hurt, "it would give me a chance to catch up."

"Okay, John, if you're sure that's what you want. I'll let your team know, and I won't be in contact unless anything urgent comes up. Enjoy your time off."

Fantastic! Now he could be miserable in peace. John lay back against the pillows, trying to get comfortable, which was kind of hard, as his body ached all over and his head throbbed. A drink of water would really hit the spot, but the bathroom seemed too far away, so he didn't bother. Dimming the lights, he closed his eyes. If he could just get a few hours uninterrupted sleep, he'd feel much better…


Elizabeth loaded her tray. Looking around the busy cafeteria, she spotted Carson lunching with Rodney. It was well known the two friends met each Wednesday, a kind of tradition with them since coming here, so she waved and would have gone past, but McKay motioned her to come over.

"So, what's so important to make Sheppard take time off?"

Beckett looked surprised, but the colonel deserved his privacy. "Now, c'mon, Rodney. The man deserves a break. Come to think of it, a couple of days off, away from the lab, would do you the world of good."

Elizabeth was still a little uneasy about John herself. "Rodney, how long has John had the cold?"

Rodney looked surprised. "What cold? He was fine yesterday. Well maybe a little pale, but falling into a

hole of freezing mud will do that to you. Is he okay?"

Beckett put down his coffee. "Wait just a minute. There was no sign of mud when he came for his post mission check."

Weir felt she needed to defend Sheppard on this one. She had seen the state of him, filthy, covered head to toe in vile smelling gunge, looking totally miserable as he walked across the 'gate room. "That's my fault, Carson. It was me who suggested a shower before he spread mud all over the station, and your nice clean infirmary."

Beckett rose to his feet. "Well, he should have at least mentioned it to me. Who knows what kind of bacteria he's been exposed to? Day off or not, I'll get my bag and check on him."


Sheppard could hear the door buzzer, and really didn't want to answer. The sickness, had stopped but now he couldn't stop coughing and it was starting to get him down. Maybe whoever it was could get him some water, and snag a couple of Tylenol from his secret stash while they were at it.

"Come i…cough..." John felt like he was coughing out a lung as he struggled to breathe.

The door whooshed open, and a very pissed off looking Beckett walked in, closely followed by McKay. Carson came over, stood by the bed and stared down at Sheppard, who was drenched in sweat and clearly very unwell. "So, colonel. How is your cold?"

John didn't miss the sarcasm. "I'll be fine by tomo...cough, cough"

Beckett shook his head and took his vitals. The thermometer beeped showing a temperature of 102. He didn't intend to sound so annoyed, but he couldn't understand why Sheppard endangered his health time and time again. "Yes, I can hear that, son. But as I'm the one with the medical degree, not you, and I understand you neglected to tell me about your fall yesterday, I would rather have you in the infirmary for observation. Now, can you walk?"

Sheppard glared at the medic "Of cour, cough, I cn, cough, wk, cough, cough." Struggling to sit up, he swung his legs slowly onto the floor. C'mon John, you can do it! He pushed himself up, steadied himself for a whole second, before traitorous legs buckled, landing flat on his knees in front of Carson. Beckett, damn the man, helped him back on the bed, his look speaking volumes…

"Marcie love, could you bring a wheelchair down to Colonel Sheppard's quarters please? Thanks. Yes, you can get his usual bed ready."

Rodney looked at his friend, concern written over his face."You look like crap, Sheppard. Why didn't you tell anyone you were sick?"

Carson felt like asking the same question himself, but the man really didn't look well, so he'd cut him a break for now. "Leave the lectures to me, Rodney, and get the colonel a glass of water please."

John squinted up and gave Carson his best glare, but the effect got completely ruined when a coughing fit started up, stoking a fire in his chest. Beckett quickly took the glass from an anxious Rodney, pressed it into his hands and held the glass steady, all the while rubbing his back until he was able to breathe again.


Sheppard looked at the IV in disgust. In his book the infirmary was for the seriously ill or the wounded, not for someone with a freaking cold! He'd argued with Beckett until he was blue in the face, literally, given his current condition, but the medic actually had the audacity to threaten him with restraints if he put even one toe out the bed. Okay, he would concede to feeling a little "off", but this was overkill, completely unnecessary, and humiliating to boot.

His father had despised illness. In his book it was a sign of weakness, and the worst form of attention seeking behaviour.

Brother Dave never had so much as a runny nose, while he on the other hand, caught every bug and virus doing the rounds, much to the annoyance of his dad. Things had been okay when his mom was still alive. He smiled, remembering the pretty, dark haired woman, who mopping his brow, sat with him for hours, and baked his favourite blueberry pancakes as a special treat. But everything changed after her premature death when John was only 7yrs old.

The following summer, he caught measles, and his father, who didn't approve of sick days, had driven him to school, only for the teacher to take him straight back home. Patrick Sheppard had been all charm and concern, but the moment she'd left, he would never forget his dad's face, but worse still the angry tirade unleashed upon him."How dare you humiliate me in front of that woman! You're weak, do you know that? Why couldn't you be more like your brother? Get out of my sight you pathetic little boy, you don't deserve the name Sheppard."

That had been the last time he'd cried. Never again did he allow anyone to see him weak or helpless, becoming an expert at hiding his pain, preferring to suffer in silence away from the prying eyes of others. John knew his father had been wrong, but that didn't change a thing, for even after all those years, it was hard to break the conditioning of a life time. He lay back against the pillows, pulled up the covers and shivered. What the hell was McKay doing with the environmental controls in this place anyway?


Rodney walked into the infirmary, chessboard at the ready. Sheppard had been pretty bummed the last time he'd seen him, so maybe a little distraction would help.

Marcie saw him coming and went to intercept. "Sorry, Dr McKay, but Colonel Sheppard isn't well enough to receive visitors at the moment."

Rodney pushed past, threw back the screens, just in time to see John convulsing on the bed.

Beckett couldn't deal with his friend right now. "Get the hell out of here, Rodney. I can't speak to you at the moment."

Marcie grabbed hold of his arm and Rodney was too shocked to resist. "What's wrong with him? Is he going to be alright?"

The nurse, who only moments before was ready to give the good doctor a piece of her mind, could see how concerned he was. "I hope so, Dr Beckett is doing everything he can. I'll ask him to speak to you as soon as he knows more."

Within minutes, Teyla, Ronon and Elizabeth joined Rodney in the waiting room, all anxious for news on Sheppard's condition. It seemed like an eternity before Carson, looking visibly exhausted, came in.

Elizabeth stepped forward. "Carson, what happened? How is he?"

"John came in with a temperature of 102, and I immediately started him on broad-spectrum antibiotics. However, the delay in starting treatment reduced its effectiveness and his temperate continued to rise, ultimately causing him to convulse. The good news is I managed to get him stabilised quickly, so there shouldn't be any long-term damage. But I won't lie to you, he still very ill, so will have to be monitored closely for the next 24 hours."

Teyla remembered John's fall into the muddy hole. "Dr Beckett, are you saying his fall caused this?"

Carson shook his head." No, love. The mud he swallowed did cause the nausea, which led to dehydration; however Colonel Sheppard is suffering severe complications associated with flu."

He could see Elizabeth and Rodney looked surprised, shocked even, that such a common illness could make their friend so ill. "As a doctor, I get this reaction all the time, but were you aware flu kills 36,000 people in the US every year? Unfortunately, people tend to say they have the flu when they're simply suffering from a bad cold, but as you can see for yourself, the reality can be much more serious. Look, I know you want to see him, so you can have a minute, but no more."

Sheppard was lying flushed with fever, his face barely visible under an oxygen mask. Only the constant beep of the monitor showed there was still proof of life. Elizabeth took his hand in hers, and whispered softy, "Get well, John, we need you."


So hot. Why was he so hot? John's whole body felt like it was staked over a raging fire, every muscle screaming in agony. What was wrong with him?

Carson was changing out the IV and saw the hazel eyes start to open. "Easy, son. Try not to move too much, as you'll be in a fair amount of pain." He raised a straw to dry lips, but pulled it back as John started to choke. "That's enough for now. I can see you have questions, but those can wait till later. Sleep is what you need right now."

John could only watch as the medic injected something into his IV and within minutes, all the aches became muted and he couldn't keep heavy lids open any longer.

The next time Sheppard awoke, he was still hot and sore , but not as bad as before. What had happened? Whatever it was couldn't be good, as he could feel the invasive catheter. Almost on cue, Beckett came over and pulled up a seat.

"How are you feeling, colonel?"

For once, John didn't try to lie. "Cr..p"

Carson smiled. "Ahh, honesty for once. Now if you had just come to me a few days ago, things wouldn't have become so serious."

John looked puzzled. "Wa...hp…ed?"

Beckett looked at his friend, who could so easily have died just because he'd foolishly kept his illness to himself for too long.

Sheppard knew that look. "Lec…re?"

"Yes, John, I'm going to give you a lecture. Do you know how close we came to losing you? And all because you failed to call me when you first became ill. As it was, the nausea you suffered weakened your immune system so badly, what could have been a mild case of the flu became life threatening when I couldn't control your temperature and convulsions started. Don't you trust me, John? Am I that much of an ogre you kept me out the loop, putting your life in danger in the process?

John saw how hurt Carson looked and felt ashamed. "So...y."

Beckett knew he'd gone too far, given John's condition. "So am I, lad, forget I said anything. Just promise me one thing. If you get so much as a hangnail in future let me know. Sometimes I don't think you realise how important you are to everyone here. Oh, I know you'll say it's your job to protect us, and it is. But know this, Colonel. It's my job to take care of you, too, so please let me do my job."

Sheppard smiled at his friend. "ys… bo...s."

It took John longer than he'd liked to start to feel well again. But thanks to good friends keeping him amused, both in the infirmary, and later back in his quarters, life gradually got back to normal.

As Beckett made his final set of checks before finally declaring Sheppard fit for active duty, John knew there was something he should have done long ago to make things right with the friend who had saved his life yet again.

"Carson, what are you doing for dinner tonight? I'd like to tell you about my father."

THE END


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