oOo
Major Harry Phillips pulled over another anonymous, black pack. They all looked the same, so to find his own, he was scanning each one for a distinctive mis-matched buckle; he'd taken it from an old pack, and cobbled it onto his, with suturing nylon from the infirmary.
His mother had shown all her children how to sew, amongst other useful skills. She had taught elementary school for twenty years, before her sudden death, when John Henry, her youngest, was only twelve. Now, he couldn't pick up a needle, cook an egg or polish his boots without thinking of her.
He was starting to wonder if his pack was actually here. He knew it hadn't been taken to the labs yet, he'd already checked. The drooling science department had managed to restrain themselves and were going through the bags systematically, two at a time. These others, stored in a closet, had not been touched since the debriefing three days ago.
He'd left most of his gear on the planet, so it wasn't like he was looking for some personal item of sentimental value. He simply had something that belonged to someone else and he was anxious to return it.
There... had to be almost the last one, didn't it?
He quickly retrieved what he was looking for, from an inside zippered pocket. Dutifully ignoring the other contents, he neatly re-stacked the pile of baggage, and left for the infirmary.
oOo
Rodney felt like an old git in a rest home. He'd been on this balcony maybe twenty minutes and when he'd arrived they'd promised to come back in ten. He couldn't work the thing himself - obviously - so he was dependant on the two nurses who had stranded him here, to push him and his chair back to the infirmary. He had considered just getting up and leaving, but was afraid it might turn out to be beyond him, which would be a blow to his confidence he didn't need right now.
Ronon or Teyla would come if they knew... hell, even Radek would... but he had no radio.
As for Sheppard, Rodney hadn't seen him since they'd got back; he was trying not to wonder why.
He shivered.
It was cold out here, and he felt the cold nowadays...
God... you see? even sounded like an old git.
Now, his hands would cramp... especially the left. He grimaced and reluctantly looked down.
The skin of both hands was white, black, blue, red... take your pick. Six of his fingernails were blackened and gross, and already lifting up; they itched him and were particularly ugly. He didn't like to look at them, in fact he'd grown to hate them in the last week. They were a constant reminder of his imprisonment.
Carson was pleased with him, apparently. He was progressing well, the infection was gone, cracked ribs were mending. They'd been shoving him around in a wheelchair for a few days, something he hated, but the lethargy and weariness he felt was overpowering at times, and that was when he was grudgingly glad of it.
They hadn't made him see Kate yet, which was odd he thought, and especially ironic, as he couldn't help but like the woman, regardless of her dubious profession. He still needed to eat more, and of course, there was the continuing saga of his hands.
The right one was doing well, only the middle finger had required resetting, and it had it's own small splint, giving support to the other digits that were strapped to it.
But he winced as he tried to flex his left one. It was painful - to be expected Beckett had said - but more worrying to Rodney was the lack of sensation on one side, extending from the wrist to the tip of his thumb. There was a custom made splint for this hand, one that accommodated the swollen joints and dressings, the pins and the wires. He'd had two surgeries already, and Carson could not rule out a third. Rodney just wanted it all to go away, so he did what he usually did and buried his hands beneath the infirmary blanket over his knees.
The nurse arrived back, minus her colleague, passing on a cheery excuse and apology for being late. Rodney was unimpressed, did not reply, and was getting increasingly irritated by her forced jollity. There were only one or two of Carson's staff that he had any time for, and she was not one of them.
One day soon he would reduce her to tears, he just didn't know when. It concerned him a little, that he was actually looking forward to it.
Carson was a problem too, with his well-meaning questions and all round bossiness... he wished everyone would get out of his life, move on, like he had.
He could hear Nurse Whatsit chattering away behind him, as the chair moved back before swinging around and wheeling off into the hall.
He couldn't resist a smile, your days are numbered, girly, he mused.
oOo
Peering unnoticed past the edge of a glass partition, Harry saw McKay, in a wheelchair, punching at the keys of a lap top with a finger that was probably fractured and woefully inadequate for the job. He had managed to push back part of the strapping and was typing one fingered using his right hand. Even from a distance, the major could see the painful set to his jaw and the sweat standing out on his forehead.
There had been raised voices coming from the infirmary. He knew Dr Beckett wasn't there, as he'd just spotted him tucking into a bacon sandwich in the mess hall.
"Dr McKay it's time for your physio..."
"You're not even qualified.", came the snappy reply.
"We do what we can, doctor, and I'm the closest thing to a p.t. in this galaxy.", said a white-coated woman.
"Why don't you just try it?", said a nurse standing beside her. She said it quite pleasantly, Harry thought, but Rodney shot her a look that could have soured milk.
"Because I don't have to and I dont want to... I have free will, you know", he answered, darkly.
There was a sudden 'harrumph' and he threw up his arms.
"Why am I even in this chair? I'm not a freaking invalid...", and he struggled to his feet, the note pad sliding off his lap and onto the floor with a crash.
All eyes were drawn down to it, and for a few moments there was silence. Then, it seemed to Harry that the doctor crumpled visibly, and he sank back down to his chair, head down.
"How are we supposed to help you if you won't cooperate?"
The doctor raised a weary head, and Harry was concerned to see the defeat written there.
He said, slowly,
"Read my lips... I don't want you to help me... I told you that yesterday. I can manage, I'll work it out for myself."
Harry knew of the unlikely friendship between his CO and the chief scientist, he'd seen how worried Sheppard had been about Dr McKay, and he thought this might be the perfect time for Sheppard to drop by.
He considered for a moment how best to get the colonel down there, without having all Atlantis know what was going on.
Okay, he thought, here goes... and he touched his radio, "Colonel Sheppard, this is Phillips..."
"Yes, Major, go ahead."
"I have that report for you, sir.. the...", he really wasn't a good liar,"..very important one. Turns out I have it after all... maybe you could pick it up? I'm in the infirmary, sir." he coughed, ".. sprained collar bone"
There was a long pause, in which Harry wondered if you could actually sprain your collar bone.
Then, at the other end of the line, the light - apparently - dawned...
"What? Oh.. yes, Major, I'll come right down there..."
oOo
Well, it looked like the decision of when to visit Rodney had been taken out of his hands.
"Hey, Rodney.. what's going on?"
He walked into a tense little scene: there was Harry Phillips, looking huge and as relaxed as ever, but for the hint of tightness in the lines around his eyes. McKay was sitting in a wheelchair, looking pale and dishevelled. In front of him was someone John didn't recognise; a woman, in her fifties, wearing a white coat. She was bent at the waist and almost nose to nose with the scientist. A lap top computer lay on the floor.
Rodney seeemed startled by his arrival, and John didn't miss how he quickly hid his hands in the folds of his robe, or the strange look on his face.
The woman straightened abruptly and fixed John with an icy glare.
Then McKay laughed, but it was a harsh, humourless sound.
"Why are you here? ..come to see the show?", he smirked, but underneath his face was thunderous. Sheppard turned to Phillips, wearing a strained smile,
"Thankyou, Major... really, I appreciate it... I can take it from here...", he said, and then went on, addressing the room in general, "I'd like to speak to Dr McKay alone, please."
The small group that had gathered, including the stern woman, left quietly, if a little reluctantly. Harry, too, made as if to leave, and John saw him push something into his breast pocket.
"No, stay, Major... at least you're a visitor who actually wants to visit.", McKay said, with a stuck-on smile.
Touche, Rodney, thought John, ruefully.
"It's alright, sir, I just had something for you... it can wait.", the major explained.
"Well you can give it to me now, can't you?", the smile was still stuck there, and John half-expected Rodney to clap his hands with glee.
Harry looked sideways at Sheppard, who just shrugged slightly.
"Here... I've been wanting to get this back to you all week."
He held it out to McKay, with a small satisfied grin, obviously happy to have restored the LSD to it's owner. But McKay did not move to take the device, only stared at it in horror, like it was about to explode, or something.
In fact his arms, far from reaching out, actually drew back, and his hands fell to rest, clunk, beside the wheels of the chair.
Uh-oh...
"Where did you get this?", he whispered.
"I found it in the store room with the other stuff... on the planet... I knew it was yours"
Rodney's face had gone blank, his eyes flickering and far away.
There was an uncomfortable silence, during which Sheppard could only stare at the scientist with a worried frown.
McKay's voice, when it came, was low and hesitant...
"They tried to smash it... but it wouldn't smash. That made them mad. I wanted it to smash, I didn't want them mad at me. So I grabbed it, and I stamped, and stamped, and stamped on that thing, but... it just wouldn't break."
Major Phillips had withdrawn his hand, the LSD still in it, and was looking horrified.
"Then... they bent back my thumb, till it touched my wrist...", McKay said.
And then he added, almost casually, "I bit through my tongue that day."
John's stomach lurched. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Harry Phillips was stony faced with barely contained rage.
John moved quickly to crouch at McKay's side, as Phillips stepped back.
He wanted to say, "I'm sorry, Rodney, that I let them hurt you... that I wasn't there to help you", he could have said what needed saying, there and then.
But, because he was a coward, and because as far as he was concerned, he was way off the map, he said, "You don't have to do anything, if you don't want to"
He sighed, and went on, "But maybe you should consider doing some of it."
Blue eyes, red rimmed and dull, met his.
"I still won't go with her", he said emphatically.
"I know", was all Sheppard could say.
"Where've you been?"
"I've been.. busy..."
There was a snort...
"No you haven't.", McKay snapped, and he seemed willing to leave it at that, which on one hand made John grateful, but on the other, left him feeling that he'd let Rodney down, yet again.
"Do you have the gene, major?", McKay asked Harry.
He nodded.
"Then you use it.. keep it for me... I just can't deal with it now, you know?"
"Sure, doc..", he answered quietly, and returning the device to his pocket, he nodded to John, and left.
oOo
TBC and thanks for your patience... hopefully, now I've made a start, further chapters will be quicker!