In the Mind's Eye
AN: Because you guys were so awesome in your reviews here's another one, earlier than originally planned. :)
Part 10
The leaves from the thick trees rustled and wavered ominously; all sounds from the native wildlife ceased into an eerie silence. The only sound that rippled from forest now was the deep rumbled buzzing that marked the menacing presence of the approaching Precyn swarm. Before Teyla and Ronon were truly prepared for it, they found themselves surrounded by a swarm of ferocious black bees with ruthless looking stings in their tails. At their arrival, everybody including Teyla and Ronon, flicked on the button at the handles of their Gernosian weapons and cracked their whips into the face of the dark swarming mass.
Although Ronon hadn't thought much of the weapon at first glance, the effect of the whip was impressive. As the swarm of bees approached, the coil of the whip lashed out with a loud boom to transform into long electrical strings of fifty or more lightning energy bolts—spreading and stretching out far and wide almost like a small electrical storm. All Precyn bees that were caught in the path of the deadly lashes sizzled and popped, dropping instantly dead or stunned to the ground.
Ronon and Teyla were presently positioned at the rear of the Gernosian patrol party. With no personal zappers to protect them against the stings of the Precyn swarm, except for the sturdy cloaks that they were wearing, Dohan's hunting patrol did what they could to protect the two members of Sheppard's team. The Gernosian hunting patrol was in the front line, taking the main blunt of the Precyn swarm's force; their personal zappers lighting up their figures in bluish rays as dozens of bees slammed into them in the midst of the swarming insect fenzy. Yet, they were protected against the stings and they hunted with ease dispensing of hundreds of bees that came within range of their lashing energy whips.
However, despite their best efforts, there were still too many bees for them to contain, and many of the swarm escaped the touch of their electrical lightning whips and headed towards where Ronon and Teyla were. By now, Ronon was doing quite an effective job killing off the Precyn swamp that headed in his direction. After all, he had two effective weapons. The Gernosians had been wrong in assuming that his Satedan blaster would be ineffective in getting rid of the attacking bees—each shot discharged at the dark swarming mass by his blaster, energized the surrounding air in front of him and send hundreds of Precyn bees falling dead to the ground in a growing pile at his feet. Firing his Satedan blaster with his left hand and cracking the Gernosian whip in his right, he was a formidable force, doing twice as much damage to the raging dark mass of bees as any single Gernosian hunter could.
He turned to see at how Teyla was fairing, she seemed to be doing well, causing her own unique set of damage to the Precyn swamp. Unlike Ronon, she couldn't use her P90 as she needed two hands for the Atlantean weapon, and the spray of projectile bullets would have been less effective than the Gernosian whip in this situation. She twirled and cracked the energy whip in an impressive manner. At the same time, she spun gracefully in swift motions as if displaying some kind of exotic Athosian dance. Her features were tensed and focused, as her actions set off tremendous sparks from the raging swarm that came crashing blindly into the deadly, twirling energy strings of her lighted whip. The air bellowed and sizzled around her slim figure with sparks and smoke as Precyn bees died by the dozens at her feet.
Ronon grunted in approval as he turned to focus on his own fight, his lips twisting in a feral grin, as he concentrated on getting rid of as much of the stinging, buzzing swarm that was within his weapons reach. Pretty soon, he found that he was rather enjoying the sizzling and popping noise that the insects made each time the bees came within range of his deadly weapons. Perspiration flowed down his back as he too spun and dashed about hard and fast, ensuring that he was always moving and wasn't an easy target for the bees nasty stingers. The pile at his feet was now at least a foot deep, but still the swarm continued out from the forest trees, he began to wonder when the attack would end...
oOo
Rodney almost cried out in relief to finally know that at long last, after first waking up at the crashed site, Sheppard was going to help him. It felt that he had waited a long time to hear those words, and now that he knew that help was finally on the way, he could let go of his false bravado and leave it all in Sheppard's capable hands. After all, he thought that he had done considerably well, in spite of his own injuries; he had not thrown a tantrum demanding that Sheppard helped him immediately when the pilot first regained consciousness, and he had also made certain that the pilot was more coherent before telling him of his injuries. He felt rather proud of that fact, but now that he no longer worried about Sheppard, he was once again began to focus on his own pain.
The pain was awful, if he could curl up and die, just to be away from the pain, he would have gladly done so. He suddenly realized what he was thinking and quickly refuted his thoughts. No, he didn't want to die, he wasn't ready for it, besides it wasn't his time. Sheppard would save him, which meant, he didn't need to die. He still had too much to do, like to win the Nobel Prize for some scientific brilliance that would reveal to the world what a genius he was. But his eyes felt heavy, and he was starting to feel awfully tired, weak and shaky. Was it getting a little bit hot around here? He wondered. He worried that he might be getting a fever. He realized as well that his blood sugar level was probably getting low, likely aggravated from his leg injury and possibly blood loss. His hand went instinctively to his vest pocket to retrieve another powerbar.
He knew that he should probably eat something before Sheppard set his leg, but somehow for the first time in his life, he found that he didn't have much of an appetite. He was in pain and he was too tense thinking about the setting of his injured limb—he didn't want to think about it. However, he found that he could do nothing else but think about it. He sighed, tore open the wrapper and instructed his brain that he was hungry.
oOo
When John Sheppard tried to sit up, he immediately realized his mistake. He had forgotten about the basic instruction received as a young cadet at flight school. If you survived an air accident, stay still, assess your current physical condition and make sure that you were okay before trying to move. To his detriment, he had forgotten this fundamental rule, and three things happened at once: red hot agony shot out from his left side, his chest screamed for equal attention, and Sheppard cried out in pain. The indescribable agony brought hot tears to Sheppard's eyes; cold sweat broke out, and he could not restrain the painful sob as his right hand clumsily touched the source of throbbing pain at his side.
He felt something long, sharp and wet. Lifting his head, he stared in horror at the large piece of jagged wood, about half an inch thick and approximately two feet long (almost like a spear), sticking out from the side of his body. He felt dizziness and nausea. His instincts screamed for him to reach down and rip the foreign projectile out from his body, but his military training told him to remain still and leave it where it was. If he had his tac vest on him, it would have probably prevented the injury, but he remembered Drayx removing it as it searched him when he first awoke in the holding cell.
oOo
Rodney had just taken his first bite out from his power bar and was chewing it halfway, when he heard Sheppard's cry of pain. He froze, that didn't sound good at all. "Sheppard? You okay over there?" he called out hesitantly. There was no reply except for painful gasping sounds. Rodney frowned, and hurriedly swallowed the remaining the pieces of power bar that seemed to taste like ash now; he suddenly wasn't feeling hungry any more. Shakily, he returned the half chewed ration to his vest pocket. He would finish it later, after he found out what was wrong with Sheppard.
Worry consumed him and a part of him felt nauseous. McKay felt a growing sense of deja vu as he remembered the time when he was in a similar position not so long ago, hearing the sounds of Sheppard's pain as the pilot was being telepathically attacked by one nasty bug that Sheppard had insisted on calling 'Drayx'. During that time too, all Rodney could do was sit in his corner, powerless and unable to help. Somehow, he didn't think throwing a shoe would help now. Besides, he knew that he wouldn't have been able to reach the said shoe, for this time he was hurting as much as Sheppard was.
oOo
Great John! You had to get yourself stabbed by an alien tree, didn't you? He rebuked himself angrily. The anger helped steady him a little in his battle against the pain, the dizziness and nausea. He closed his eyes, then opened them again to stare ahead, trying to recollect his racing thoughts; his lips pursed into a thin, worried line. It was then that he noticed the dark shadow of an object, just off the corner of his eye. Turning and lifting his head slightly, he saw that it was his tac vest, laying just a hairs breadth away, situated so close, as if to mock him. With a groan, his head dropped back down to the ground and he shut his eyes, turning his head away. For a few long moments, he tried to stay as still as possible, taking deep ragged breaths, which was no easy feat considering that he was having a little trouble breathing properly right now. In addition to his side, he also knew that from the way his chest was feeling, he had a couple of cracked ribs to compliment the rest of his injuries. In fact, his first assessment was correct, everything hurt, but his side was the real killer.
"Sheppard, what's wrong? And don't tell me nothing, cos... I clearly heard... you gasping... and crying out in pain." He heard McKay say faintly through the loud roaring and rhythmic pounding of blood in his ears. John didn't have the strength to answer the man, so he kept quiet instead. He realized that he must have been hit by an extremely long, painfully sharp, flying splinter when the huge tree exploded from the impact of their aircraft hitting it when they crash landed.
Against his better judgment, his right hand went on its own accord to the wound again, every fiber of his being was screaming at him to grab the jagged stick and rip it out. It took all his effort to try to remain calm, as his mind went back to the standard military training that every airman received concerning treating such injuries, that is, never remove any foreign object from a soldier's wound. You leave that task for the professionals. If you did it wrong, removing the said object could cause more damage than when it first went in. You can do this, John... Remain calm, don't think about the damn stick sticking out from the side of your gut! No, he silently rebuked himself, he knew he had to think about the damn stick in order for him to consider the next step.
oOo
Rodney didn't like the fact that Sheppard had made no reply to his query. He knew the Colonel well enough to know that if John didn't answer his question, it meant that things were not good. In addition to that, the ragged breathing that Sheppard was making at the moment, indicated that the pilot was struggling with some considerable pain.
McKay's heart rate started to accelerate again and it took extreme effort not to go into an all-out panic attack. "Stay calm, stay calm," he whispered the words rapidly to himself. Rodney whimpered in misery as another throbbing stab of pain from his leg rose out like an evil wave to engulf him in agony.
oOo
Sheppard's mind was lucid enough now to know that it was better to leave the jutted splinter where it was. The important rule he had been given when encountering field injuries such as this echoed in his mind over and over again: Do NOT attempt to clean the wound or remove a protruding object from the casualty. Leave that to experienced medical personnel like Dr Carson Beckett. To pull it out could mean death, especially if it had severed something vital like an artery; if that happened, it would also mean that he would bleed to death in a matter of seconds.
Yet, he also knew that he couldn't leave it in there in his current state, not if he was going to be of any help to McKay. He needed to be mobile, and he considered the three options he had available. Risk an extraction and probably bleed to death; leave the damn stick in there and try to remain still as possible until help arrived; or break the rest of the stick off so that it wouldn't obstruct his future movements, and pray and hope to God that he was still conscious to help himself and McKay afterwards. He chose the third option. If Sheppard had been injured and alone, he might have gone for option number two, which was probably the wisest move. His limited medical knowledge told him to leave the stick in, apply first aid and wait for help. However, help was unlikely to arrive any time soon, and he had McKay to think about, so he didn't have the luxury of that option open to him.
With his decision made, he knew that the difficult part was still to come. His gaze went back to his tac vest, and his hand reached out to pull it closer towards him. He knew that there was a small medical first aid kit and field dressings stored in one of its pockets. Beckett had insisted that every off-world team kept such items with them at all times, but it was a standard rule anyway for every military personnel to carry their own batch of field dressings while away on missions. He knew what he had to do; he had to apply the field dressing to the wound first, then break the remaining top part of the stick. But before he could do the latter bit, he needed to find or improvised some bulky dressing from the cleanest material available and place these around the protruding stick close to the wound for support.
Clumsily, his blood-stained hands dug into his vest pocket, hoping that Drayx had not removed the items he needed. He breathed a small sigh of relief as he found the stock of field dressings and the small emergency kit. Using one hand now, he shakily removed an appropriate sized field dressing. The bandage would have to go above his black t-shirt that the large splinter had stabbed through; he knew that it was better if he left the material of his t-shirt stuck to the wound in order to prevent further loss of blood. It was by chance alone that the deadly projectile had stabbed him without hitting his Atlantean jacket, but gone through the gap into his exposed side. If he had been stabbed through two articles of clothing, it might have made it more difficult for him to apply the field dressing. This way was better, because it would also allow him to hide the injury from McKay. The last thing he needed was Rodney ranting on about how screwed they were.
Taking as much of a breath that his cracked ribs allowed him to, he steeled himself to press the field dressing firmly around his injured and bleeding side. He had to make sure that it contacted securely with the surrounding areas of his wound, where the wooden projectile stuck, in an attempt to stop the flow of blood. At contact with his injury, a ragged cry escaped from Sheppard as excruciating pain erupted from his side; black dots started to appear alarmingly in his field of vision. His vision started to grey out and he knew that he was close to losing consciousness. It was with steel determination to remain conscious that prevented him from doing so.
oOo
There were more painful grunts, gasping, and what sounded like a half-chocked off cry of pain. Rodney's worry meter went a notch higher. Whatever Sheppard was doing, it was causing him a great deal of pain. The scientist could see the Colonel's head lifting from the ground, struggling with something. The anxiety grew stronger and he wondered what terrible injuries Sheppard had sustained as a result of the crash. He started to call out towards John again, asking him what was wrong.
oOo
It took Sheppard a while to apply the field dressing, and there were instances where his exertions almost made him pass out from the pain. In fact, he wasn't certain that he hadn't lost consciousness for a second or two. Every small movement jarred his injury, and he often had to grit his teeth tightly to stop the moan from escaping as he rode out the waves of agony that pulsed in beat with his hammering heart. When he finally accomplished the grueling task, he had to lay there and rest for a while trying to slow down the wild thumping in his chest. He knew that he was slowly going into shock as his skin started to feel clammy and he started to shiver slightly. Like McKay, he knew that his ability to survive meant that he had to remain calm; he also couldn't afford to loose too much blood, otherwise it could result in him experiencing a sudden drop in blood pressure, which would result in his internal organs shutting down. All the while at the back of his mind, he also knew that he had to be mobile in order to help out McKay. It was the urgency of Rodney's need that kept him going.
With the field dressing in place, Sheppard quickly started on the second task by wrapping the lower part of the wooden projectile securely with some loose dressing and a clean piece cloth that he had found. Now came the hardest part, the part that he knew would hurt the most. He had to break the restricting extended part of the splinter, in order for him to be more mobile, but not jar it too much as to cause further damage to his insides. His hands moved into position. Cold sweat broke out from his body as he hoped and prayed that he was doing the right thing. He knew that it was best if he did it in one quick break, but he wondered if he had the strength to do what was required. However, hearing McKay's worried and pain filled voice call his name again, resolved his determination. Chickening out now was not an option.
"Hang on, Rodney..., I just need to... attend to something first..." he managed to call out weakly, hoping that it would be enough to stop the other man from worrying too much. Okay, just one clean break, John, you can do it! He had to do it now, otherwise he knew his courage would fail him. He was getting nervous just thinking about it. Taking a slow deep breath, as much as his injured ribs allowed, his right hand tightened around the jagged splinter, making sure he got a firm grip on it, while his left hand held the bottom part steady. Then with a quick jerk, he snapped the top half off as fast as he could.
Red hot agony erupted from his side unlike anything he had experience before, and despite his best efforts to hold back the scream, painful sounds still escaped between tightly clenched teeth. However, he could not fight against the sting of hot tears as the pain intensified, filling up his entire world. It cost him a lot to try to keep silent, but he did not want McKay to worry further; the astrophysicist, he knew, had enough problems of his own to deal with. To his horror, he felt warm blood quickly soaking up the bandages at his side as rippling agony sheared through him like acid molten lava. He knew that he must have loosened and moved the splintered wood slightly when he broke the top half off. Damn! Damn! Damn! He cursed silently to himself. His vision darkened, and the blood roaring in his ears increased.
He must have passed out then, but when John next came to, he realized that only a few heartbeats must have passed as the pounding waves of agony had not lessened. Sheppard groaned and squeezed his eyes shut against the overwhelming pain, unable to stop hot tears from pouring down the corner of his eyes. He was suddenly glad that nobody could witness the intense agony he was in. Sucking in a struggling breath through tightly clenched teeth, Sheppard rode out the excruciating waves as best he could, hoping that he wouldn't pass out again or worse, bleed to death. This has to work! He told himself over and over again. It was sheer will-power alone that enabled him to stay conscious. Through the blood roaring in his ears, it took a while for him to realize that McKay was still calling out his name. The scientist's voice sounded weaker now, anxious and filled with worry, there was also a hint of panic in that voice. Dammit! He knew that Rodney needed to remain calm in order not to worsen his own injuries. So much for not worrying McKay, he thought wryly to himself.
Taking as deep a breath as humanly possible, without hurting his cracked ribs or wounded side further, Sheppard made another attempt to speak to the ailing scientist. He tried to keep the pain he was feeling out of his voice, but he knew that he failed miserably. "Stop yelling, McKay, you'll only make things worse... I... I just need... to rest for a while... I'll be with you in five..." Sheppard hoped that it was five, and not longer. John knew that he was the only one available that could help Rodney out, and from what he had heard about the other man's injury, Sheppard secretly feared that if he did not reach his friend in time, McKay might not survive...
oOo
TBC
AN: If you enjoyed this chapter and like to read more, please review. :) Next chap may take a wee bit longer to be posted due to a RL issue, probably some time next week... that is, if you guys are still interested. I'll certainly appreciate your thoughts on this chapter (might get me inspired to write faster!) In case you were wondering, I do have an ending worked out for this fic (but there's still a bit of plot to go...).