Slender grey fingers tugged at John's arm, but John wasn't about to abandon Rodney just yet. "We're not leaving him," he barked at Hermiod.
"Colonel Sheppard, I believe I can save him if you would please move out of the way," Hermiod replied in his annoyingly composed manner.
"Well why didn't you say so in the first place?" John snapped, dragging himself away from Rodney to give the Asgard more room. He forgave Hermiod's sarcastic response only because he was about to work some alien mojo and save McKay's life.
Propped up on his elbow, John observed Hermiod closely, half anticipating to see healing white light emanate from the Asgard's fingertips like in "E.T.". It turned out that Hermiod's healing technique was somewhat more pedestrian. Wrapping his slim fist around the protruding end of the branch lodged in McKay's gut, Hermiod gently eased it free and tossed it to the ground.
Before their eyes, Rodney's wound erupted in a thick outpouring of semi-congealed blood and bits of leaf and bark from the branch before seamlessly closing up entirely. Within seconds Rodney was gasping for air and trying to sit up.
"Well I could have done that," John commented dryly, getting the Asgard equivalent of an eye roll in response.
"What happened?" a dazed-looking Rodney inquired of no one in particular.
"Oh, you know, not much," John volunteered with a shrug. "You just died and came back to life. No biggie."
Rodney's eyes blinked sluggishly for a second as he processed that piece of news. "I was dead?" he asked, like he must have heard wrong.
"Mostly dead," Sheppard amended, a puckish smile flitting across his face despite his attempt to remain serious.
A quicksilver smirk lifted one corner of Rodney's mouth at the "Princess Bride" reference—it was the only movie both he and John agreed deserved to be on the 'top ten movies of all time' list. His smile soon vanished, however, to be replaced by a wincing grimace.
"What's wrong?" John asked, worrying about the possibility of a relapse.
"Hungry," Rodney answered. "I don't suppose you brought any MREs?" he asked hopefully.
John shook his head. They hadn't considered the possibility of a prolonged stay on the planet. "Sorry, buddy. Best I can offer is a power bar."
Rodney's fingers were instantly snapping under his nose, impatiently demanding the hidden treasure. John dug into the pocket of his tac. vest and retrieved the pulverized power bar, quickly handing it over. The groans of delight as Rodney ate were borderline pornographic and for some inexplicable reason caused John's face to heat up.
"Better?" he asked when the last crumb had been hovered into Rodney's greedy mouth.
"Mmm," was Rodney's reply. And then, with a sigh, he rubbed his hands on his grungy pants, only to pull them away again, frowning at the messy result. "So…anyone else think we should make haste before the Merry Men over there decide to pull out the bows and arrows?"
"You sure you're feeling up to it so soon after…" John trailed off, waving an exhausted hand in the general direction of Rodney's midriff. Rodney looked down and saw for the first time how much blood there was. John wouldn't have thought it possible, but his friend's face lost even more colour at the sight.
"You weren't kidding were you—about the mostly dead thing?" Rodney said in round-eyed wonder.
John answered with a shake of his head, not wanting to freak Rodney out with details of his brush with death.
"Huh," Rodney replied, absorbing the new information with the ease of someone used to dangerously close calls. "We still need to get moving. How are you doing? Can you walk yet?"
"Don't know," Sheppard admitted. "It's in the pins and needles stage."
"Right. Well there's only one way to find out." Rodney gingerly got to his feet, swaying dizzyingly from the pint or three of blood he was missing before finding an equilibrium. Once he was steady he held a hand out to John.
Dr. Elizabeth Weir was leaning over the Gate Room railing when the 'gate started its dialling sequence. They were receiving an incoming wormhole—one that they'd been waiting for for well over three hours. But her death grip on the railing didn't relax until Chuck announced it was Dr. McKay's IDC.
Her relief was short lived, however, as Rodney's voice broke over the radio. "Elizabeth, we've got a bit of a situation here," he said.
"What kind of situation?" Weir asked, the furrow between her eyebrows deepening with concern.
"Seems like we've picked up a few stragglers—two Pawnim women and three children seeking refuge on Atlantis. Oh—and Colonel Sheppard requires medical assistance, so you'd better give Beckett a call," he added as an afterthought.
"I'm fine," she heard John protest in the background.
"You are not," Rodney countered. The two of them sounded like little kids bickering in the playground. "You've just been shot!"
"Rodney?" Elizabeth asked, her anxiety skyrocketing after that last comment.
"He took a Wraith stun blast to the legs. The man can't even walk—please tell Colonel Invulnerable that he needs medical attention. Oh, and better tell Carson that he should probably save a bed for me, too."
"I'm on it," Chuck announced from his console.
Weir nodded her thanks and was about to ask Rodney the nature of his injuries when Hermiod walked through the event horizon, followed by a harried-looking group of women and children. When Rodney finally appeared supporting Sheppard with an arm around his back, Elizabeth's mouth gaped open.
He'd sounded so calm on the radio that Elizabeth had assumed he wasn't badly hurt, but it looked to her like he'd barely escaped a gruesome slaughter. Rodney's sickly-pale skin was streaked and spattered with dark spots of blood and his shredded shirt looked like something out of a slasher horror flick.
Rodney must have observed the astonishment on her face, because he quickly spoke to reassure her. "It looks much worse than it is—hard to believe, I know, but trust me, I feel fine. Maybe a little twitchy, and I'm so hungry that I wouldn't even turn my nose up at tofu, but otherwise I'm fine. Great, even."
Elizabeth's mouth did a guppy impression as she looked back and forth between her chief scientist and her head of military.
"Wraith tried to eat him," Sheppard supplied by way of explanation. "It's a long, long…long story."
It seemed the short answer would have to suffice for now because Carson had arrived with his team. They had to have sprinted from the infirmary to get there so fast. She watched as the doctor's face ran the course from alarm through to professional concern as his men brought the two gurneys around and trundled his two new patients off to the infirmary.
Around her, Elizabeth could feel tension in the air and she turned to find Chuck and the other expedition members in the Control Room looking to her in suspense. She reminded herself that it was less than a week ago that Sheppard's team had walked thought that 'gate without Dr. McKay, and his loss had had an surprisingly powerful impact on all of them—not just on those who counted themselves among his close friends. Seeing him come through the 'gate just now, looking like a walking dead man, must have been quite a shock.
"Chuck, if you could arrange accommodations for our guests?" Elizabeth asked, gesturing to the knot of Pawnim escapees milling around in the Gate Room below. He nodded briskly, clearly glad to have something constructive to do. She knew how he felt. "I'll be in the infirmary if anyone needs me," she said in her most soothing voice. "I promise I'll keep everyone posted."
As she walked through the halls of Atlantis, greeting friends and colleagues as she passed, her smile felt brittle. The last week had taken its toll on her as well, and she wasn't sure how well she'd be able to cope if Carson had any bad news to impart. Still, people were looking to her for support and guidance; they were depending on her to be strong. So she stiffened her spine and walked tall, a bright 'hello' on her lips for one and all.
But the heavy ball of tension in the pit of her stomach didn't dissipate until she entered the infirmary and was met with the all-too-familiar sight of business as usual. Lying on adjoining beds, John and Rodney had been cleaned up and dressed in fresh white scrubs. Rodney was complaining loudly about the need for real food, rather than the intravenous crap Carson was subjecting him to, while Carson defended his decision with a list of medical grounds that included such things as dehydration and electrolyte balances. Sheppard simply laid there, arm draped across his eyes, trying to block out the racket. There was the tiniest hint of a smile curling the corners of the colonel's lips.
It was Carson who was first to acknowledge her presence. "Hello, Elizabeth," he greeted her with his customarily warm smile.
"How are your patients?" she asked, hands clasped behind her back, a furtive sparkle in her eye.
Before Carson could respond, Rodney cut in. "Elizabeth—thank God! Can you tell Dr. Mosquito here that if he drains any more of my blood for his wacky experiments the well will run dry? And why can't I get my nutrients the old-fashioned way? A tall glass of apple juice and some cookies—that's all I ask. Although I wouldn't say no to some roasted chicken and a nice side of garlic mashed potatoes."
Elizabeth chuckled at the despairing eye roll Carson sent her way. They were such children, really, she thought fondly.
"Ye'll get your food just as soon as I'm convinced you can keep it down. You're the one who was complaining about feeling queasy, if you'll remember," Carson pointed out brusquely.
"Well…I take it back, then," Rodney said with a pout.
"You see what I have to put up with?" Carson groused playfully. But he flashed Elizabeth a glance that made her stomach knot. When he quietly asked her if they could have a word in private and led her out to the waiting area, Elizabeth felt a cold hand grip her heart. This was the bad news she'd been fearing.
Carson placed his hand on her arm in what was meant to be a comforting gesture, but only served to elevate Elizabeth's apprehension. "What is it, Carson?" she asked once they were safely out of earshot.
His face was grim as he answered, "Our young Rodney has just recovered from near-mortal injuries shortly after having been fed on by a Wraith. As before, the enzyme activated his Wraith genes which allowed him to heal, but he lost a good deal of blood and…" Worried blue eyes scanned hers, as if judging how well she was going to take the news.
"And?" she prompted, feeling ever muscle in her body tense up.
"Do you remember when I explained how Rodney's regenerative abilities are fuelled by the enzyme?" he asked, shifting from one foot to the other.
Elizabeth nodded. "Like a battery being recharged," she answered dutifully.
"Aye. Well, the feeding charged his battery, as it were, but the energy required to help him heal from a wound that should have killed him has all but sapped it dry."
"What are you saying?" Elizabeth asked, her hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
"Rodney's about to go through a sudden, massive withdrawal from the enzyme. As it was, the last time he suffered a withdrawal it was touch and go, but I fear that in his weakened state, having lost so much blood… Elizabeth, I have to warn you that it's highly doubtful he'll be able to pull through this time." The dark shadow that passed over Carson's face told her just how desperately he wished it weren't so.
Elizabeth felt a pang of grief strike her deep in the chest as she glanced through the infirmary door at Rodney. He was propped up on one elbow, happily nattering at John who was indulging him in that good-natured way he reserved for Rodney alone.
"Does he know?" she asked Carson.
"No. And I don't plan on tellin' him. There's no sense worrying him over something we can do nothing about."
Elizabeth frowned, unsure whether or not she liked the idea of concealing the severity of Rodney's condition from him. He deserved to know the truth—she knew that if she was in his place she would want to know. At the very least it would allow him time to put his affairs in order.
But on the other hand, if there was the remotest possibility that he could pull through this, the added stress would only word against him. No. He needed every conceivable advantage he could get right now. Even if that meant telling him bald-faced lies to give him hope.