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Ch 10 Paperclips
Rodney
There were thoughts... disjointed pieces... drifting through his mind. Some were his own, but some seemed to float in unbidden from elsewhere.
He thought of suffering and a great disaster; being with people he hardly knew, and them needing him.
He thought of pain and a journey down into confusion and sickness; someone holding his face in their hands, a voice whispering comfort, though the words were unfamiliar and uttered by a stranger.
He thought of friendship; the quiet support of one who understood his fears and was there, standing at his shoulder, to face them.
His thoughts brought him back to a wasteland of destruction, where he wandered cold and alone, the sky in turmoil above him and all around the sounds of suffering and pain. He curled up on the ground, just wishing for it all to end; even if the ending brought nothing but death... then so be it.
His eyes closed, the sound of his breathing grew louder, more desperate; was he dying then? A shadow fell across his closed eyes and dark fabric settled heavily over his face. It smelled familiar... dusty, sweaty and familiar.
They were covering him with his own jacket, and fear awoke in him...
"No... m'not... don't..."
He was stifled, choking, couldn't breathe in or out...
He wasn't dead, he didn't want to die, it wasn't the end...
This isn't how it ends, trust me...
He called out to the one person he trusted completely... had always trusted.
"Sheppard!"
And there he was, right next to him.
"John... please... don't cover me... I'm not dead..."
He was gabbling now, and he found he was clinging to Sheppard, holding on with all he had.
"Take me home... they're looking for me... can't stay..."
He still held on, fingers curled. Even so, John and everything around him was beginning to fade out, the ground swung up to meet him sickeningly, colours swirled and then muted, and then suddenly... he was alone again.
Now there was no sound and the desperate wailing cries had gone. Rodney thought fleetingly that such terrible emptiness, should not feel so damn comfortable.
But he was wrapped in a haze of warmth, unreal but compelling, and he felt his mind quietly detach itself.
Soon his thoughts ebbed away and he was left empty, feeling nothing at all.
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The box teetered on the edge... it was going to go... pointless really to try and stop it.
In slow motion it fell and automatically Rodney reached to save it. Too late, of course and a hundred shiny paper clips exploded onto the floor.
Now, he was down on his knees, picking them up one at a time, only there must have been more than a hundred, because they were everywhere... some were sticking to his hands... he shook them off, pulled them off... but they were sticky and sharp...
How some had landed in his lap, he didn't know; but somehow they were there and... damn.. if they didn't poke at him and hurt like the blazes.
He tried plucking them out, desperate to be rid of them.
Then someone said, sharply, "Grab his hands.. he'll have those staples out!"
Not staples, you idiot, paper clips, he thought irritably.
He wondered then if maybe he wasn't on the floor at all. It felt like he was lying down, on something soft.. but he couldn't move his arms.
"Open your eyes, Rodney."
They are open, he said to himself, again irritated by blatant stupidity.
"Can you catch what he's saying, colonel?"
What? I'm not saying anything... are you all demented? he thought.
"I think he said he 'meant it'... well, I think that's what he said - it's barely a whisper", said the speaker, in an off-hand manner that Rodney found vaguely insulting.
Why won't my arms move? he asked himself.
It registered suddenly, too, that he couldn't actually see anything and therefore, he had to concede, that his eyes perhaps were closed after all.
Sorry, 'bout that, and so saying, he opened them.
"That's okay, son... at least now you're back with us", came the jovial reply, and McKay found himself blinking up into the amused, but infinitely reassuring face of Carson Beckett.
It now occurred to Rodney that in fact he was the one demented, as he hadn't realised he'd been speaking aloud the whole time.
It also occurred to him, that he felt like absolute shit; his head throbbed with a weird combination of pressure and heat that would almost have been interesting, if it hadn't been so unpleasant; it had become clear that some sadist really had stapled up his belly, and just the thought of it added to his nausea; and if that wasn't already enough, he was having a tough time breathing, even though he easily detected the oxygen mask covering his face.
"No more talking for a wee while, ye hear? You'll wear yerself out", said Carson gently, apparently noticing the breathing thing.
"Do as you're told, McKay.."
Rodney slid his eyes sideways and there he found Sheppard, looking whole but tired, leaning over the bed, elbows locked. Rodney let his eyes travel downwards, and he found to his surprise, that John had hold of his forearms, easily pinning him to the bed, keeping him from moving. They looked very white and thin under the harsh lighting and were both trailing IV lines.
Rodney saw John glance over at the Scottish doctor, "He's really hot, doc... I can feel it.", he said worriedly, and Rodney felt the grip on his arms disappear.
He tried to laugh.
Did you just say I was hot? I'll need that in writing, you know..., he chuckled, drunkenly.
Carson's face loomed up again... he looked pissed.
"Stop talking.. really... " he ordered, then he in turn looked away and spoke to the colonel.
"He still has the devil of a fever, but it looks to be on it's way down. You can stay a while, but don't tire him out."
'He' is right here, you know...
Suddenly his two guardians appeared on either side of him and, hooking their arms beneath his, they hefted him upright against some hastily piled pillows. His equilibrium gone for a moment, Rodney closed his eyes, then felt a straw bob at his lips... Carson held a beaker, and Rodney eagerly drank, the coolness trickled down his scratchy throat - it was heaven.
"Now, ye can talk a bit - but take it slow and easy... okay?", said Carson, putting down the beaker, and re-settling his mask.
"'kay", he managed to say, and was quite proud of the volume he achieved.
He heard Carson tell John he'd be back in a while, and Rodney let his head sink into the crisp white pillows. So he was back... he'd made it. They had taken out that... thing, and then clipped him together like so much file paper.
Now he was upright he did feel a bit more alert, but he was still sweaty and breathless, and his eyes burned hellishly.
"I have a fever", came out as both a statement and a question.
John leaned forward, moving into his field of vision.
He looked kind of serious and ... worried?
"Seems like you have... Beckett said it was an infection"
"Oh... where's everyone?" He hadn't seen any of his team or indeed anyone but John and Carson since he'd awoken.
"Carson won't let them in yet. You're stuck with me"
He sighed..
"L-lucky me..."
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