oOo
It was a bed; a narrow, blue, blanket-draped bed, and it was in the infirmary.
Set on its own, a pale blue rectangle, surrounded on all sides by box shaped clutter, some beeping, some flashing. People moved in and out of the frame. They were quiet, moving slowly, bending and straightening, and reaching high. Beeping boxes were wheeled in and beeping boxes were wheeled out; it was like the game where the squares moved, and you had to make the picture by sliding them one at a time. Now only a few remained, and a figure could be seen, seated at one side, immobile. A head bobbed up and then down again, hands busy. He seemed to be waiting for something; they were all waiting for something.
The shape in the bed had not moved yet. Evan wondered when it would. Who was it that everyone waited for? What had happened to him? A white bandage wrapped the man's head, his chest was bare, and from above, trailing wires attached to small patches of white, were easily seen.
"Good morning, Major", he heard. Three words... one, two, three. He didn't know what they meant, only that he had heard them. Someone was leaning close to the figure on the bed and then their hands reached for a hanging bag of liquid, and the line that dangled beneath.
Evan thought he heard a voice say, "Does Carson have fresh?", before a warmth stole over him, closing the window he had on the world, and he had no time to even wonder what the voice had meant.
oOo
It was the nice nurse; the one who brought him coffee the last time he was an unwilling patient in this place. Alright, it had been de-caf, but the thought was there and it was a nice one.
Calculations meticulously made, Rodney was now into his reports, a job he disliked and for which he definitely needed caffeine.
He stooped and felt around for the styrofoam cup he'd left around the chair legs. His fingers found it and fumbled around it's curve, and he knew then by it's bounce and easy tilt, that it was empty. Sitting up he watched as the nurse ran her hands down the major's arms, peering intently at his unconscious face, his eyes underscored with grey shadows, making him look tired and old. She rubbed his hands briskly, and in a voice that was all warmth and encouragement, she said,
"Good morning, Major."
Of course there was no reply. She sighed and Rodney thought she looked particularly grieved.
All at once she looked at him and smiled a small embarrassed smile, nodding at the man in the bed.
"Major Lorne... he's a special patient. Been here a lot... on and off. Always a real trouper, never complains..."
Her face fell suddenly as she remembered who she was talking to,
"Not that you... Doctor... I - well, you're not...", she blushed deep red and Rodney felt uncharacteristically sorry for her.
"Alright, alright, we already know I'm not a model patient. Don't worry about it..", and he managed a tight smile back at her.
She took a syringe from a tray, reached up and injected into the port slowly, her eyes darting from the line to Lorne, and back again, several times.
"Hang in there, you can do it...", she whispered, and Rodney wondered if it had been for Lorne's benefit or for hers.
A silence fell, then, and his thoughts turned to more pressing things.
"Does Carson have fresh?", and he held out his empty coffee cup, like the lazy geek he was.
oOo
He could hear... humming.
Someone was singing close by his left ear. It wasn't loud, just compelling and quite, quite beautiful.
The perfection of the moment was ruined, however, by a wave of nausea that seemed to start in his chest and threatened to blow off the top of his head.
Slowly he brought his breathing under control, as he panted through parted lips.
He exercised his eyes without opening them... squeeze shut, relax... squeeze shut, relax.
Upon the last relax he pried them open reluctantly.
An image appeared, blurred and too bright. His eyes narrowed and prickled with tears. A head and shoulders emerged, smudged but oddly familiar. His lips were forming words before he knew it.
"Do't stop... p-pretty.."
The head turned with a flash of red hair.
"Major? Can you hear me?"
Five words, he thought. One, two, three, four, five. Should make sense, but didn't. Somehow, though, he knew the words required a response.
"Tey-huh...", he heard himself say, and it was a struggle to even think about saying any more.
There followed then, a warm outpouring of words from the Athosian, too numerous to count and too complex to decipher. But he could feel the comfort in those words, felt it even more when Teyla took both his hands in hers.
He felt warm breath on his face as she whispered to him again, and her thumbs rubbed tiny circles on the back of his hands.
A light assaulted his eyes and he grimaced and tried to move away. A vice of pain wrapped itself around his head, and it was all he could do to keep himself from crying out.
Someone's hands descended firmly on his shoulders and more words were directed at him, he wondered why it was dark and then realised he had his eyes closed. Cautiously he opened them.
oOo
As she flicked through the shiny colourful pages of the book, Teyla found herself once again baffled by the ways of earth women.
A gate technician friend of hers had given her this most interesting magazine. From what she could make out, it contained instructions for food preparation and advice on clothing and grooming.
What mystified her, though, was the conflict that was evident between the food to be prepared and the advice given on personal appearance. A woman was encouraged to cook many sweet cakes and pastries, and then berated most severely for her resulting increase in stature. She was then to follow instructions detailing the use of a large ball for exercise, so preparing herself for several weeks of tortuous starvation, presumably until the next edition of the book could instruct her what to do next.
She shuddered and lay the book down carefully, as if it was suddenly distasteful.
Her eyes strayed to the man lying motionless in the bed. Well, not quite motionless... his chest rose and fell, and it did so of its own accord, without those machines that Carson sometimes had to use.
Evan's left hand lay palm up on the blue coverlet. A narrow tube carried liquid to the crease inside his elbow. The skin there was white, turning to cream and then to warm brown as she angled her head to see the upper side of his tanned forearm, pressed to the sheet. Carefully she turned the slack hand, his fingers meshing with hers. The skin of his wrist was paler than the surrounding skin, a perfect shadow of the time piece he usually wore there.
Chair legs hissed across the floor, as she drew closer to the bed. She put her chin to her hand, feeling the softness of the bed beneath her elbow, the other hand still held onto his.
She wanted him to wake; to turn his face to hers, to show her that slow, amused, twitch upward of the mouth, that wasn't quite a smile; she wanted to see the wide, lop sided grin, that would perhaps light his face when he saw that it was her.
Her eyes closed and in her head she began to sing. It was a cradle song of Old Athos, repetitive and simple. It always reminded her of her mother, and the short time they had been together.
Smiling to herself, her musings became a soft humming. Unconsciously she stroked up and down his warm fingers...
"Do't stop... p-pretty..."
It was weak, full of air and desperation, but it was his voice.
Her head whipped up and around, and in an instant she was on her feet, searching the face before her. His eyes were open, in a face that was slowly returning to a more healthy colour. Tears were leaking from the corners, and darkening his eye lashes. She could see him try to focus, swallow thickly and then give a low moan.
"Major? Can you hear me?"
There was confusion written on his face, although she felt sure that he had heard her.
She turned and hailed a passing nurse.
"Please bring Dr Beckett." she asked, hope lifting her spirits.
"Tey-huh", said the major, exhaling heavily on the last syllable.
"Welcome back, Evan. We have been waiting for you. Lie still, Dr Beckett is on his way.", and she worked at both his hands with her own, hoping that she would feel a response. She glanced down, but his hands lay still, clasped in hers.
"You are safe, and you will soon be well", she whispered.
Then, Carson was there, with a ready smile and the tiny light he often used.
"Now then, lad.. I need you to open yer eyes for me..", and Teyla watched as the doctor played the light across Evan's face.
The major grimaced and moved his head; colour drained from his face, and he shuddered.
"Lie still, now... you'll give yerself a worse headache", Carson patted at the major's arm and gave a knowing look to Teyla, as she waited anxiously.
"He's doin' as well as he should be, and that's good news. I'll go and call Colonel Sheppard... will you be okay here for a moment?"
She realised that the doctor was watching her closely, and that she had only paid attention as far as the 'good news' part. But then a huge smile lit Carson's face.
"What am 'a sayin'? Of course you will... he couldn't be in better hands."
oOo
TBC and thanks for your reviews, they mean a lot. This fic is growing longer, as they often do... thanks for sticking with me!