AN: For those anxious people asking for Chp 3 - Here you go!
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, please don't sue. Just someone anxiously waiting for Season 2!
Explosion
By Kerr Avon
Chapter 3 - A Slight Delay
By the time Zelenka had scrounged up both clean rags and clean water, Beckett was beginning to stir. The Czech carefully set down his supplies and knelt next to McKay, who was gently holding down Beckett's shoulders as he began to thrash and moan.
"Carson, can you hear me? There's been an accident. I need you to keep still." Rodney repeated this over and over, in a calm, low-pitched voice that Zelenka was unused to hearing.
After a few minutes, the physician settled down and Rodney released his grip. The moaning progressed to incoherent mumbling, signaling a slow increase in awareness.
"It's all right, Carson. They're going to get us out of here." Zelenka added his own brand of reassurance. "You'll be in Medlab before you know it."
Beckett's eyelids fluttered, and he slowly squinted them open. Glancing from one scientist to the other, he muttered, "Bloody Hell! Not again. I swear I've gotten more concussions in the last three months than any one person should be allowed for a lifetime. That's it. I'm convinced. This bloody base actually HATES me." His eyes widened. "That's the only thing it could be. Atlantis is trying to put me into a coma." He tried to sit up, only to be halted by both McKay and Zelenka pushing him back down. In the process, his right arm jarred slightly. Carson's face went white at the sudden influx of pain, and he let the scientists ease him to the deck.
Gulping twice before finding his voice, the physician squeaked, "Bloody…I've broken my arm, haven't I? What the hell happened? Why aren't we in Medlab? What's going on?" By the conclusion of the diatribe, his voice had returned full force. Nevertheless, he studiously avoided moving his right arm even an inch.
It wasn't often McKay felt obliged to be tolerant, but something told him that he needed to now. He tried his best, but the throbbing from his back was distracting. "Carson, if you will just shut up for a minute, I'll explain."
"Take off your shirt first." Zelenka interjected softly.
Rodney turned to stare at this apparent non sequitur, only to be greeted by a raised eyebrow, rolled-up sleeves, and hands holding a dripping washcloth. Realization dawned. "Oh." At Zelenka's nod, he continued tentatively, so as not to alarm Beckett, "Is it really necessary?" Zelenka nodded again. Paling, McKay jerked his head towards his back, and suggested, "Maybe you could just lift it?"
Zelenka nodded a third time. The two scientists were in complete understanding; while Rodney was injured, Beckett was worse. However, if the physician realized the extent of McKay's wounds, he would kill himself trying to tend them. Therefore, Zelenka would clean up Rodney's back while McKay distracted the doctor by going over their situation. Hopefully, by the time Carson was satisfied, the only person left to treat would be him.
As if reading their minds, Beckett piped up. "Rodney, what's going on now?" He began to make abortive movements to try to sit up again which were brought to an abrupt halt by waves of pain emanating from his arm. He closed his eyes and settled back to the floor, thereby missing the wince that flitted across McKay's face as Zelenka peeled the shredded shirt away from his cuts. By the time Beckett's eyes reopened, Rodney had once again controlled his features, sporting a weak but sardonic grin.
"Well, now, where to start?" He tried valiantly to ignore the sting of the cold water on his already-reddening wounds. Irritation surfaced, and he held up an index finger. "Oh, right. How about starting with, 'The next time I tell you to duck, you'd better do it'? Is that a good place to begin?" He let his anger swell, drowning out the whimper of anguish he could feel building in the back of his throat as Zelenka gingerly continued cleaning bits of cloth and dirt from the lacerations. "Perhaps in the future you will show half the intelligence that God gave a kumquat, and duck first, ask questions later; rather than stand around like an idiot figuring out the 'whys' and 'wherefores'."
At Carson's look of confusion, he took a deep breath. "You came to our lab and startled me while I was deciphering an Ancient device, resulting in my triggering a countdown. Now, as I have rarely seen a countdown lead to anything good, I surmised that the oncoming event was likely to be bad, so yelled for everyone to take cover. Zelenka did, and, as you see, is relatively unharmed." He glanced over his shoulder at his fellow scientist, who waved jauntily before returning to his work. "You, however, stood there staring at us like we were escapees from Arkham. When it became clear that you had no intention of seeking shelter until it was too late, I took matters into my own hands…or your knees, depending on how you look at it. We hit the deck just as the bomb exploded; you landed relatively awkwardly due to the fact that you had already been knocked out by a rather large piece of shrapnel, and managed to break your arm in the process." He couldn't quite contain a hiss as his friend extricated a particularly deeply-imbedded piece of debris. Biting his lip and returning to topic before Beckett could ask, he continued, "As you see, the lab has been pretty much decimated, including both our com-links and the controls that open the hatch. Fortunately, the wall intercom still functions, and help is on the way. They may have to cut through the door, but they'll get here." He spoke with the utmost assurance that came from working with John Sheppard; if there was a way to do it, the Major would find it.
Zelenka had finished cleaning the lacerations, and was taping down a makeshift bandage with some scotch tape that he had located behind a desk. He gently touched McKay's shoulder, "It's done."
Rodney rolled his eyes in relief. "Thank God." The sweat stood out on his forehead, glistening in the artificial light, and he felt faint. Fortunately Beckett, one eye almost completely swollen shut from the laceration and associated contusion, was unable to make out many visual details, so didn't appear to notice.
With Zelenka's supporting hand on his shoulder, McKay collected himself and addressed the supine physician. "Now, if the explanations are taken care of, I think it's time to set that arm of yours."
Beckett closed his eyes resignedly. "I know. Mah hand's numb, so there's probably a kinked artery. We need to straighten it to reestablish blood flow."
McKay exchanged a quick, worried glance with Zelenka, then addressed the doctor. "Tell us what to do."
Taking a deep breath, Carson nodded fractionally. "First, find a couple of straight rods, then some rope or string to tie them in place."
"I'll do it." Zelenka stood up quickly and started rooting about the debris. Just then the intercom spoke, in Dr. Weir's voice.
"Doctor Zelenka, how is everyone doing?"
Zelenka went over to the speaker. "Rodney and I are getting ready to splint Dr. Beckett's arm; it's broken."
"Major Sheppard and an engineering crew are outside the door right now. They have a blowtorch and are going to try to cut their way in to you."
"How long will it take?"
He could hear Weir take a breath. "We're not sure. But the Major asked me to caution you all to stay away from the door."
"We will be happy to."
"We'll see you soon, then. Weir out."
Zelenka went back to the other men. "They are going to try to cut us out with a blowtorch."
McKay rolled his eyes in disgust. "That'll take forever, if it can be done at all."
Zelenka raised an eyebrow, and matter-of-factly replied, "Then I'd better find those splints."
TBC…
