Hiya. Okay, so the "infirmary scene" got away from me. It ended up being much too long for just one chapter, so it's going to be two. Here's the first half—which is the longer half.
Please note, I'm using all the doctors from Season Three that have been named (including ones from upcoming eps), plus a couple of doctors that are fanon for me and a couple of other writers (Morrison, the "unnamed" doctor, and Doctor Lu). There are no spoilers for the eps these people show up in at all. I mean it.
NEVER STOP MOVING
By TIPPER
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CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: FLOATING ON THE WATER ONCE MORE
Things became a bit blurry for John after that. The rear hatch opened and people swarmed inside, asking questions and generally overwhelming him. He tried to answer, but until Carson stood right in front of him, shouting his name, he was pretty sure he wasn't making sense.
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Carson ran inside, and almost took a header over a loose chair in the back of the Jumper. What the hell? Maria helped him up, then she was past him, moving into the front with Carson limping quickly to catch up—that was going to leave a vivid bruise on his shin tomorrow. He felt more than saw Doctor Cole on his heels, bringing up the rear with medical supplies and the other medical personnel.
John was on his feet, looking pale and stricken, eyes wild as he tried to back away from the onslaught of bodies. Beckett stopped when he saw the mess of the front console and the huge hole in the windshield (and the lack of a pilot's chair—so that's what it was), then turned worried eyes on John as Doctor Cole bent to look at Rodney.
"He was alive before we came through," John was saying to Maria, who was trying to get him to sit on the console, but the colonel's gaze was fixed on Rodney. "He was talking to me as we hit the wormhole, I'm sure of it. He was just talking to me!"
Beckett turned his eyes, to see Doctor Cole pressing her hands to Rodney's neck, her features grim. She looked up at Carson with a slightly uncertain look, but gave a nod. Carson let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"He's not dead," she said, looking up at John now. "There's a pulse."
"But…but…" John seemed genuinely confused, "I…"
"Colonel," Carson moved to stand before John, displacing Maria. "Colonel!" he said again, when John still didn't seem capable of looking at him directly. The shouted rank got John's attention, and pain-filled hazel eyes finally focused on him. Beckett frowned at the sheen of sweat on the man's face—he could feel the heat of a fever from here.
"Carson?"
"Can you tell me what happened? What's wrong with Rodney, and what's wrong with you?"
"Me? No, Rodney…Rodney hit his head. Twice. Hard." The colonel tried to see around Beckett as medical personnel picked Rodney up out of the chair and towards a waiting gurney. "He was dizzy, agitated—more than normal, he snapped at Teyla—and he fainted twice. His right hand showed signs of weakness. Oh, and he vomited several times—maybe four, five times in three hours? I thought…he's not dead? But, there was no pulse—"
"There was, son," Carson soothed, reaching to rest a comforting hand on John's left arm. "You just didn't feel it. You made a hasty conclusion. He'll be fine, just—"
He was unprepared for the shout of agony at the touch on John's arm, and his eyes focused on the limb, instantly spotting the spots of blood. His eyes widened.
"What the hell?"
"Burned," John gasped, pulling the arm away and leaning over, bent at the stomach. "Badly. I can't…can't…." It seemed to break the camel's back, because the colonel suddenly tipped the rest of the way forward. Carson barely caught him, one arm around the colonel's chest, John's head and left arm hanging over Beckett's right arm. It gave the physician his first view of the blood spotted left shoulder, and grimaced. His balance started to falter, so he turned and yelled for help. Maria and Sergeant Greene dove in to gently pull John from him.
"Careful of his left arm and back, and cut that jacket off!" Carson paused a second when he realized the jacket had blue panels instead of black…what was John doing wearing Rodney's jacket? He looked out the back, just in time to see Rodney already being wheeled out of the Jumper Bay by Doctor Cole. He hit his radio—Morrison was their only fully qualified neurosurgeon.
"Doctor Morrison, Rodney's on his way down to you. I want a full CT scan of his head—it could just be a concussion, but from what Colonel Sheppard just told me, it sounds likely that there's a bleeder. Doctor Cole, make sure you check him for other injuries as well, and check his vitals—The colonel said he'd vomited a few times." He drew in a breath. "I'm on my way with the Colonel. He said something about bad burns on his left arm—Keller, you have experience, right?"
"Yes, sir," the woman replied over the radio.
"Good, because, based on all the blood I can see, he's losing fluids rapidly. He's also showing signs of an infection—he's feverish."
"Understood. I'll get everything ready."
He jogged out of the Jumper to catch up with his team as they started wheeling the Colonel away. He grabbed the side of the gurney, and frowned at the egg-shaped purple bruise on John's forehead, then tapped his radio again.
"Morrison, the colonel gets a CT scan after Rodney." He pulled in a breath, jogging with the gurney towards the infirmary transporter. "Biro, Jackson, Lu, what's the story on Ronon and Teyla?"
"Teyla has sustained a gunshot wound in the lower right quadrant of her back," Biro replied efficiently. "She also has minor bruising on her head and multiple cuts and lacerations on her arms, although they appear superficial. Lu has gone ahead to prep a room for surgery, to remove the bullet."
Carson grimaced, "Blood loss?"
"Not much, sir. It apparently happened just moments before she and Ronon came through the Stargate. We'll know more once we run tests and get her into the OR. She woke up briefly when we got her up on the gurney, but she is unconscious again now."
"What about Ronon?" They had reached the transporter, and had to wait a second as Rodney was transported first. The doors opened and they wheeled John inside.
"A twisted ankle, at the very least," Nathan was the one who answered this time. "Cuts, bruises and a first degree burn that looks like he was near an explosion. The blood he's sporting does not appear to be his, though. It's likely Teyla's." He sounded a little aggravated by something. Carson could easily guess what, if Ronon was awake while all his teammates weren't. As if on cue, Nathan confirmed his thoughts. "He's awake and very agitated about the rest of his…Yes, I'm talking to Doctor Beckett, I…what? No, just tell me and I'll…Hey!"
"Beckett!" Ronon's voice was tight and angry over the medical channel, and Beckett smiled dryly. "McKay and Sheppard?"
"I'll know more once we're in the infirmary, Ronon. And I'll see you there in a few ticks as well, alright? Just let Doctor Jackson take care of you, and give the man back his radio."
"No, you need to know—Teyla got a knock on her head at one point, though I don't think she fell unconscious or anything. And McKay was tortured with some sort of electric shock. He was still feeling it when the Jumper was hit and he knocked his head that second time. You know that he knocked it twice, right?"
Beckett breathed out slowly at the barbaric thought—electric shock—good Lord. Swallowing, he tapped his radio. "Cole, Morrison," he barked, "You hear that?"
"Yes, sir," Cole answered, and Morrison grumped an affirmative as well, finishing it with, "sick bastards. Could complicate matters."
Beckett didn't disagree—hopefully the CT Scan would show more.
"Ronon," Beckett called, "Anything else?"
"Think that's it," Ronon replied.
"Okay, son, give the radio back. I'll see you in a minute."
"I'll see you there," Ronon acquiesced unhappily.
"Sir?" Nathan sounded worried, obviously back in control of his radio.
"Yes?"
"Oh, nothing. Just checking. ETA two minutes, sir." He meant it as a warning. Carson shook his head as his team slid the colonel's gurney through the main doors of the infirmary.
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Ronon hated being the only one awake. He hated it almost as much as being told to sit back down every time he stood up. As if he weren't embarrassed enough by the fact that he had twisted his ankle jumping off the roof of the Jumper—that blonde doctor had insisted on wrapping it and keeping him confined to a bed until they had the personnel to spare to give him an X-Ray. She had said he was nicer than McKay, but that did little to mollify him. She just didn't know him well enough.
He looked at his right arm, which had red streaks down it. The Kaveer missile that had knocked out the shield had exploded just to his right. Most of it was absorbed by the shield just before it cut out, but he had felt the heat blast. His skin had apparently felt it enough to burn through his clothes. Great.
He pressed fingers to it, then lifted off, watching as the finger shaped white marks faded slowly against the dark red skin.
Like the cuts from the cactus plant he'd landed on, it would heal. Everything would heal.
He'd be fine.
But he hadn't been able to stop the others from getting hurt. Hadn't stopped Teyla from being shot. Or Sheppard or McKay from….
He sighed and gripped hands into fists, gaze turning to take in the rest of the infirmary, where the rest of his team were. There was a lot of running around, and Carson had disappeared to perform the surgery on Teyla. He promised to come talk to him as soon as he knew anything, but that didn't make the frustrated warrior feel any better.
He hated waiting. He was bad at it. He needed to be moving!
He went to push off the bed again, but, almost as if she had seen it coming, the blonde doctor was at his side, glaring at him. She could not have been an inch over five foot four, giving Ronon a large height advantage, and her limbs looked as strong as twigs. And yet, for some reason, he found himself retreating from the power of her stare.
"I will restrain you, if necessary," she snarled. "Don't push me."
Ronon growled, but settled back down. She gave a sharp nod, then walked away briskly. For a brief moment, he was reminded of the way Melena could put him in his place like that. A familiar pain filled his chest, and he rubbed at it. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the pillow.
He had lost Melena. And then he had spent seven years alone.
He might as well have been dead. At times, he had felt dead—his body just hadn't stopped running yet.
Having these people in his life...they had given him his life back. He could not lose them. Not now. Not so soon!
"Ronon?"
He opened his eyes at the soft voice, recognizing the tightly controlled tone despite the gentle cadence instantly. He tipped his head to the left and looked at Elizabeth. She smiled.
"Hi," she greeted.
"Hi," he answered, frowning a little. "You want to know what happened?" he guessed. She gave a nod.
"If you are feeling up to it. I…" she looked into the depths of the infirmary, at all the white clad figures running around, then back to the Satedan. "I wanted to try to give you all some space, but," she gave a head shake, "waiting is not my strong suit."
He actually quirked a smile at that. "Yeah."
She gave a grateful nod, then tilted her head. "So…what did happen?"
He gave a heavy sigh. He hated talking to Weir. It wasn't her fault—he just always felt like she was interrogating him when she spoke to him. "Starting when?"
"From after Major Lorne made it through the Stargate with Connam, the other kidnapped scientists, and Connam's truck."
Ronon nodded, pulled in a deep breath, and started to talk.
He was grateful when Weir, for once, did not interrupt. It was probably the most he had ever said to her in one sitting.
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Teyla was the first to wake, and actually felt fairly strong despite being told she had been shot twelve hours previously. Several people, a tired Carson included, expressed the sentiment that she had been very lucky. She just arched her eyebrows, smiled at them, and thought it probably would have been luckier not to have been shot, but perhaps she was misunderstanding them.
She was placed next to Ronon, and she smiled over at her friend, who, when she first saw him, had been looking extremely bored. He grinned back, his face open and almost innocent, not hiding how glad he was to finally have company. She wondered if he knew how much it lit up his face when he did that. He became almost a different person, one she felt only she, Rodney, John and Carson had ever seen.
Still, after speaking with Elizabeth—who quizzed her a little more on her personal opinions concerning the Kaveer— then chatting with Ronon, and several more naps, she found herself growing increasingly anxious when the twenty-four hour mark finally passed with no new news on either John or Rodney.
She found herself plucking at her bed covers and wanting to pull her knees up to wrap her arms around them—except, of course, for the fact that she couldn't without pulling the stitches in her back. It was simply not comfortable for her to just sit with her legs outstretched.
She curled her toes and tapped her feet a couple times.
Right after she had woken, Carson had briefed her and Ronon on John's condition. Second degree burns, as she had thought, localized on his upper left arm, left upper shoulder and part of the scapula. They had cleaned the burns and taken steps to debride the skin. He had apparently been suffering from the first stages of an infection when he came through, and they were taking steps to get rid of it. He had also been fairly badly dehydrated, and they were waiting to stabilize him before they could operate.
The word "operate" had caused both she and Ronon to straighten a little, but Carson waved them down, explaining that, due to the severity of the burns on his upper arm, they were going to use a skin graft to stimulate healing.
They had taken John into surgery not long after that. When Carson saw them again, looking even more tired than before, he had been all smiles. The prognosis, at least at that time, had been good, but they wanted to keep John isolated until they were sure the risk of infection had lessened.
John was going to hate that, Teyla mused, sinking back into her own bed. But at least she knew that he was alive and that, at least, in the few hours since Carson had delivered that news, he appeared to be improving.
But on Rodney…there was still no news.
Twenty four hours had passed. All she knew was that Rodney was unconscious and unresponsive.
Carson had explained that Morrison had found a subdural hematoma in Rodney's scan, but it had not been large. There had also been some obvious swelling, which they were reducing with medication. In other words—they had not needed to perform surgery. Still, John had been right—Rodney had had all the signs of a traumatic brain injury. With the two knocks to the head, particularly a second so soon after the first, it was a logical conclusion. Thing was, Rodney had also been suffering from being badly dehydrated—mainly from all the vomiting—and his blood sugar and electrolytes were scarily uneven—he had been, in fact, hypoglycemic. That, too, could also cause the symptoms John had described. Then there were the aftereffects of the electric shock—yet another potential source of a number of the symptoms, such as the trembling hand. They had found contact burns on Rodney's right shoulder—perhaps where he had been touched with the torture device?
It was, to put it mildly, a cascade of problems, all of which, separately, could have caused the downward spiral Rodney had exhibited on the planet. How much was damage to his muscles, how much was damage to his brain, and how much a blood-sugar problem, however, was a question they did not have the answer to. They were treating each one as best they could, but...
Well, until he woke up, they just would not know how well he would recover. Their main reason for hope was that Rodney had been conscious, mostly, and working right up until the point he fell unconscious. None of them had mentioned any evidence of slurred speech just slower speech, so...cognitive functions had been good. That was something.
All they could do, Carson said, was wait.
Teyla had smiled wryly when, at that news, Ronon had repeated, for what had to have been the third time since she had been placed next to him, that he "hated waiting."
She did not blame him.
She looked up at the clock again. Carson had told them about Rodney's condition twelve hours ago.
And nothing had changed since then.
Yes, she thought, she too hated waiting.
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Teyla was not sure how much later it was when she woke again, but it was to find the infirmary darkened for night. She tipped her head to the right, seeking out Ronon, and frowned when she saw the bed was empty.
A soft sigh from down near her feet had her lifting her head up, and she spotted Radek sitting in a chair down by her legs. He was sitting forward, elbows on his legs, and his head lowered, as if he found something fascinating about the floor.
"Radek?" she called softly, grimacing a little at how dry her throat felt. He looked up at her voice, and his smile was amazing. She couldn't help but smile back. Fumbling a little, she found the controls for her bed by her hand and propped it up so she could see him better.
Zelenka popped up from his chair, going for the nightstand where a jug of water and a cup was sitting. He quickly poured a small amount and handed it to her.
"Carson said I could give you a little water when you woke," he said, still smiling. She took it gratefully, downing it slowly as she studied the scientist. He wiped down his hands on his trousers as she finished the small amount of liquid, then he took the cup back from her with a smile.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Surprisingly well," she said. Her eyes shifted to Ronon's empty bed. "Where is Ronon?"
"He has been discharged. He went back to his quarters for a shower, but he'll be back. He asked me to keep you and Rodney company until he returned."
Teyla's eyes widened at the added name, and she shifted, turning her head to the left. Sure enough, Rodney was lying in the next bed, looking too still but definitely there. He was connected to several monitors, but it was clear he was breathing on his own, which had to be a good sign. She grinned, looking back at Radek. Her smile fell when she saw that he wasn't smiling as she was. She swallowed, feeling the dryness returning already.
"He hasn't woken?" she guessed.
"No," Radek frowned. "Not yet. They put him here so you and others could talk to him, and I did for a while. He showed no signs..." he trailed off, pursed his lips, then returned his attention back to Teyla. He smiled again.
"So," he said, "I saw the Jumper. Ronon told Elizabeth you did most of the work?"
She gave a soft smile, "Yes. Rodney repaired the panels, but I worked on the outside of the craft." Her smile fell then, remembering what her work had done. She lowered her head, looking at her hands. "You saw the conduits I replaced?"
"Yes. You did a remarkably good job."
She frowned. "Except for severing the connection to retract the drive pod."
"Yes, well..." Radek shrugged. "You could not have known. I never shown you what all those wires do under there. It's very difficult work. You will get better."
She stared at her hands a little while longer, then up at Radek. "Will I?"
"Are you kidding? I do not believe you could fail at anything you put your mind to. You remind me of all the people I used to look up to, growing up, fighting for knowledge and freedom when my country was still under the yoke of..." He stopped, then shook his head. "Let's just say that you are an impressive person."
"Doctor McKay was not very impressed," she said, lowering her head again.
Radek's eyebrows lifted. "What? You mean...but Ronon said you two worked together. He seemed to imply you worked together well."
"I made mistakes," Teyla replied, she glanced to her left at the sleeping man. "And Rodney did not appear pleased at the news that you were teaching me."
"Mistakes?" Radek's eyebrows lifted. "Something tells me that is you who was disappointed, not Rodney. He is used to mistakes." His eyes narrowed then a little bit as he contemplated the second part of her sentence, and then he frowned. "How do you know he was not pleased at my teaching you about the Jumpers?"
"He," Teyla gave a grimace, "he seemed almost hurt, as if afraid that I was taking away something that had been his."
Radek continued to stare at her, genuine puzzlement on his face. He shook his head again. "Teyla, you know that can not be true. Rodney knows no one could replace him—it's one of his most annoying traits. No, if he looked hurt it was because..." He trailed off again, and then, slowly, started to smile.
No, Teyla realized, he started to smirk.
"Oh," Radek grinned, placing his hands on his hips and looking across her to Rodney's bed. "You are a petty, petty man, Rodney McKay." He stepped back, walking around the bottom of Teyla's bed and over to Rodney's. Once there, he leaned over and studied the other man's quiet face.
"You need to wake up, Rodney," he said, his voice an odd mixture of deep-seated concern and humor, "because I so want to throw this into your smug face. She asked me, not you, and you can't stand it! Wake up!" he said again. "Wake up so that I can hear you admit that she thinks I'm a better teacher than you!"
He stood for a moment over Rodney's bed, and, slowly, the smirk on his face faded, until his lips were just pressed into a worried line. He swallowed, then turned to look at Teyla. Smiling at her nonplussed expression, he walked back over and patted her hand.
"So, why don't you tell me a little of what you did, and we can start thinking about what you need to learn next, hmmm?"
Teyla blinked, lifted her eyebrows a little, then, slowly, smiled.
Well, that was one mystery solved. Never in her life would she have thought Rodney McKay might have been jealous.
Of course, thinking about it now...it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world.
She was such a fool.
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John was weak. He could feel it in his bones—like he'd been wrung out to dry.
He was also very alone and very, very bored. He was in the isolation ward—everyone who came in wore a lot of white. He had always hated the color white—and this just solidified that for him.
He knew they were watching him for infection and to make sure that the burns were actually healing (and that he wouldn't need further treatment), but he hated being isolated like this. He knew Teyla and Ronon were okay, or going to be, but he also knew that Rodney had not yet woken up.
And for a reason he could not fully explain, he felt like Rodney's coma was his fault. Like Rodney was just waiting for him to be the one to wake him up. Irrational, yes, but...
It just reinforced his need to get out.
He watched the clock like a crazy person, feeling each second take off another inch of his life.
Forty-eight hours, Carson had promised, and he'd be free. It had been thirty-nine so far. He'd slept through most of that, but for the times he had been awake, seeing no one but Elizabeth once, Carson a couple of times, and various other medical personnel (including that doctor he still did not know the name of—why was it so hard for people to use the man's name in his presence?), he'd been deeply and horribly bored.
That was what he hated most about the infirmary—really any infirmary. The tedium. It was not just boredom, it was the tension that went along with being sick, or knowing others were sick, and you could do nothing about it. Thank God for Carson—the man was the only light in this whole place. He supposed the other medical personnel were all good people, but Carson actually gave the impression of warmth. It made it less terrible.
But Carson had a lot of people to take care of, and the isolation ward was not the easiest place to just come in for a visit.
As if on cue, he heard the doors swish open, and he turned his head.
Carson came in, wearing a broad smile. "I've brought someone to keep you company, Colonel."
Behind him, wearing head to toe white...was Ronon.
And John burst out laughing.
When Ronon scowled, it only made him laugh harder.
They'd clearly had a bit of difficulty finding a suit that would cover Ronon's hair, so, instead, the suit's hood was loose on his back, while his hair was wrapped up in a big white plastic bag, sealed in place with what looked like saran wrap. It looked like he was wearing the largest, whitest shower cap ever made.
He looked like a complete and total dork.
And John had absolutely no issues with telling Ronon that between gasps of laughter.
"They made me do this," Ronon muttered, somewhere between embarrassed and very annoyed. John, who had almost stopped, instantly started laughing again. Carson came around the side of the bed, and patted John's right shoulder, encouraging him to calm down.
"Now," he said, "I'm guessing you don't want him to go away, now, so be nice."
John sobered a little, hiccupping a few more chuckles, and grinned up at Ronon.
"You have...," he started, and found he had to draw in a breath because he'd expended so much air. Letting it out again, he grinned up at Ronon. "You have no idea how much I needed that," he said, meaning it sincerely. Ronon obviously heard it in his voice, because he merely gave a dry smile, then hooked his foot around the nearest chair to John's bed and plunked himself down.
John tried not to look at the white cloud like thing around his friend's head, but his eyes just kept drawing to it like it was the light at the end of a tunnel. A half dozen jokes covering everything from elementary school play costumes ("be the cloud, Ronon!") to Albert Einstein's large Satedan cousin popped into his head, and he couldn't help but wish McKay was here to see this...
And that was all it took to completely kill his humor. Ronon frowned at what was probably a very obvious change in expression—John knew he wasn't doing a good job holding his emotions inside right now, he was just too sick—and sat forward.
"You thinking about McKay?" he asked. John felt his right eye twitch. Damn—he really was easy to read wasn't he?
Ronon just nodded. "Figured you might be. Since you know me and Teyla are okay, the only one left that could sober you up like that is McKay, right?"
Okay, John thought, so maybe not as much easy to read as easy to deduce. He gave a nod. "Yeah." he grimaced. "Any change?"
"No," Carson said, still standing on the other side. "I'm sorry, John."
John dropped his eyes, then looked over Carson's shoulder. "Is anyone with him?"
"Teyla," Ronon answered. "Right next to him in the infirmary. She's gonna switch off with me in a while, though, 'cause she wants to see you too. Beckett," he looked up at Carson, who had now moved to the foot of the bed, "said we could come in here, even though that burn doctor didn't like the idea."
"Doctor Keller may have more experience with burn treatment that I do," Carson acknowledged, "But I have more experience with the four of you. I know what treatment will work best." He backed away, and smiled again. "Now I'll leave you two to chat."
"Wait, Carson," John held up a hand, "You...do you have a minute?" John loved Ronon like a brother, but Ronon had an unfortunate habit of not being a talker. And right now, John was really feeling starved for conversation, and he knew Ronon really wouldn't mind.
Beckett hesitated, then came back to the bed. "Actually," he admitted, "I'm supposed to be off-duty right now, so...," he shrugged, "Aye, I do. What can I get you?"
"Oh, nothing," John grinned. "Just remembering that, you were going to tell me more about that dog of yours, and I'm guessing Ronon'd be curious. What was his name again?"
Carson blinked a couple of times, then grinned. "Truth be told, John, I didn't have just one dog. There were always a bunch running around. Mum had this thing for strays, and seeing as she was a vet, she often brought the strangest ones home with her..." As he started talking, John settled back, feeling the presence of Ronon by his side where the Satedan had draped an arm on his bed, and let the soothing cadence of Carson's voice relax him. The Scot told the best stories—often involving too many cousins, too many pets, and, occasionally, terrible bodily injury to one of his family that, somehow, never killed anyone. Just made them more Scottish.
He and Ronon listened to Carson talk until John fell asleep again.
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Teyla leaned forward in the chair, both arms propped up on Rodney's bed. She held his right hand between hers, massaging it slowly and methodically, remembering that this was the hand that John had said was weak. Funny—John's left arm had been damaged, and Rodney's right arm had stopped working...she could not help but think there was something balanced in that.
Laughter filtered out from the direction of John's room—where Ronon and Carson had entered not long before—and she smiled softly. She was glad to hear John laugh—he had seemed too quiet ever since Teyla had been told he was awake in there. She knew he would be worrying about each of them, but particularly Rodney, since he was the only not yet on what Carson called "the Road to Recovery."
Of course, she had seen Ronon's getup as well—the wrap around his hair. Her smile grew. She had hoped John would find laughter in that.
Gently, she ran her fingers down Rodney's still ones, pressing into the fleshy sections between the knuckles and then working her way back up.
When she had broken her arm once as a child, she recalled Charin working her hand like this when the pain seemed too much to bear. Repetitive and soothing—it was one of those memories that stuck with her, the remembrance of Charin's patient and unselfish kindness.
Her eyes glanced to Rodney's face—there was no indication that he was aware of anything at all.
Sighing softly, she worked her way down to the palm, kneading her thumbs into the base.
"Did you know," she asked softly, pushing her thumbs now into the center of his palm, "that I used to watch your hands?" She dug deep, smoothing the dry skin. "I used to wonder at how clumsy you could be when walking or running or fighting, yet, when you were working on something, your hands were so quick. Your eyes would shift around, and I would try to guess just how many thoughts and ideas were touched and rejected in those short, brief moments before your hands and fingers would blur across the keyboard or inside some machine or over a console. Never hesitating." She worked her way up to the fingers again. "I was envious. I still am—I will never know that kind of speed, Rodney."
The fingers were cold and dry. She could feel the roughness of his skin, as if he had absorbed the desert through them. There were tiny white scars on every knuckle and on the tips—from the myriads of cuts and burns he had received over the years. The nails were cut short—one or two even looked ripped.
"It seems fantastical to me," she continued, "that so much flexibility of mind and dexterity of hand could be trapped inside…such an inflexible frame." She smiled, recalling her attempts to teach Rodney how to fight. It had been like trying to teach a mountain how to become an ocean. Recently, John had suggested she was being too kind to him—and that perhaps Ronon might be a more motivational teacher. She had acquiesced to allow Ronon to take over—after all, in two years under her tutelage, Rodney's skills at unarmed combat had really only progressed from terrible to less terrible. Part of her was not sure he could ever really learn—meaning Ronon will probably just give poor Rodney more bruises.
A little like those times John had forced Rodney into flying lessons. The colonel had let Rodney fly her and some others over the mainland once, and it had amused her no end how many times John had been forced to point out that Rodney was not flying in a straight line. Something else the scientist seemed incapable of doing. Of course, that made more sense to her—she wondered if John understood that as well as she did.
The Jumper was flown primarily by mental control, and as Rodney never thought in a straight line, how could he be expected to fly in one?
She smiled indulgently, moving down his hand again, this time reaching his wrist and upper forearm. She kneaded the skin on his forearm for a little while, grateful for the feel of his steady pulse beneath her fingers, then moved slowly back up again.
She was pressing her thumbs into the base of his palm when she spoke again.
"I had a nightmare last night," she said, her voice whisper soft. There was no one nearby, but it felt better to keep her voice down. "We were in the Jumper, and you were yelling at me to fix something in the control panel. I was trying, but you needed it done faster. I could not keep up with you. Each time I tried to work faster, my limbs felt heavier and I could not reach the things you needed me to reach. But I knew…I knew…if I could just finish, we would be all right." She pressed her lips together tightly, and lowered her head, her hands stilling their massage. "When I awoke I wondered," she looked up at his pale face, "do you know that nightmare?"
She waited a minute, then lowered her eyes again.
She resumed kneading his palm, thumbs once more kneading deeply into the center.
"But for all that," she continued, "it was better, far better, than the dreams I had after we visited the water planet. I dreamt then of being trapped, bound to the walls, their heat burning through my skin, while you yelled for help that I could not give. All I could do then…" she closed her eyes, "was watch. I had no hope. This time…," she gave a small smile, her eyes opening again, "I had hope. I just had to finish this time. And part of me knew I would be able to…someday." She smiled more broadly, and started working her way up his cold fingers again. "Nightmare though it was, it showed me I just need to keep learning, to work faster, and never stop moving. Just like you. Just like everyone here."
She lowered the hand then, gripping it between her palms, holding it as tightly as she could.
"Rodney," she said, "I am sorry that I asked Doctor Zelenka before asking you. True, I did so because I knew you would turn me down, but I still should have asked. I think, if you had asked anyone else to teach you to fight, or how to act when in a negotiation, or for anyone else to stand by you other than myself, John or Ronon…." She looked up at his face, "It would have hurt."
She gave a weak smile, then looked down again. "I know it could be dismissed as ego, but, I have thought about this a great deal since we returned, and I understand now that this is also about loyalty. About friendship. I sometimes forget that I am not alone, that I do not have to fight or learn alone. We support each other. And you would have supported me—like John, you would have questioned me at first, but, in the end, you would have supported me in your own way, even if you weren't the one to teach me. How you treated me back on the Kaveer's planet, calling me one of your 'scientists', showed me that. I should have remembered how loyal you are. And that support will go both ways, I promise you—we need to stand together. And when it comes down to it…," she paused, looking down at the cold hand in hers. "And when it comes down to it," she repeated, more softly, "I know we will."
She sighed, memories drifting softly through her head, from early ones like John and Aiden risking everything to rescue her and the others from that Hive Ship and bringing them here to Atlantis, hearing John and Rodney's upraised voices as they defended her to Sergeant Bates after she brought Aiden home, all three of them going with her to that planet to find that hidden Wraith lab, even when they had Hive ships bearing down on them, to more recent memories, like going to Sateda to rescue Ronon and having that talk with John on the Daedalus, a talk she almost felt silly for needing to have now. A part of her would always feel like an outsider, needing to thank the people from Earth for allowing her to stay here, to aid them, for helping her or Ronon or others from this Galaxy when they should really just leave...
But she had never been an outsider with John or Ronon or Rodney. Nor had Elizabeth or Carson ever treated her as such, not after the first year. Yet she had gone to thank John on that ship. Why did she have such a difficult time remembering that she was not alone?
Well, she would remember it now.
And she was not going to lose one of them. She refused to allow it.
She let go of Rodney's hand, resting it gently on the mattress, and stood up. Her back pulled, but she expected the pain, worked around it. On her feet once more, she slid up to the head of the bed and reached a hand to gently brush at Rodney's forehead.
"You must wake up," she said quietly. "You are not allowed to leave. You are still needed." She leaned in close, and with as much steel as she could put in her voice, demanded, "Rodney McKay, you will wake up."
She waited a moment, studying his face...then closed her eyes. Leaning back up, she refused to feel disappointed—she may not have Rodney's speed of mind, but she had something he did not—patience. Nodding to herself, she turned and made her way back to her own bed.
Her gaze was drawn to the side as laughter once more echoed from John's room. The colonel would be out here soon, she knew. Perhaps John would be able to do what she and Ronon had so far been unable to.
She closed her eyes, feeling the tiredness flow through her once more.
Consequently, she did not see Rodney's right hand curl and settle on its own.
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TBC...
Please, please, please be aware that I have no medical knowledge. I made a great deal of this up based on what I read on-line, and then took a ton of poetic license because, hell, I couldn't help it. Realistically, what I did to them was bad. But...suspension of disbelief, right? Just a little?