"Colonel Sheppard, please report to the infirmary," a loud voice came over the PA, "Colonel Sheppard, please report to the infirmary."
John dropped a quick kiss on Elizabeth's cheek and sat up on the bed, groping the floor beside him quietly in the dim light for his clothes.
"John?" Elizabeth asked sleepily.
"It's fine, Liz," John stood as he slipped into his pants, "I'm being paged to the infirmary. Probably just some of my guys roughhousing again."
Elizabeth turned her head towards her radio as it started beeping on her bedside table.
"Or not," Elizabeth sighed and reached over to slide the earpiece over her ear, leaning over the bed to grab her bra from the floor at the same time, "This is Dr. Weir."
"I'm sorry to wake you, Elizabeth," Carson's quiet voice came over the radio, "But I need you to come to the infirmary. There's been an incident."
"Is everyone all right?" Elizabeth sat up and accepted the shirt John held out towards her.
"One of the refugees is being taken into surgery now," Carson informed her, "Dr. Vaughn has been injured as well, but she's being…rather difficult regarding her treatment."
"I'll be there shortly," Elizabeth tapped off her earpiece.
"Problem?" John sat on the edge of Elizabeth's bed to lace his boots.
"It sounds like it," Elizabeth stood to finish dressing, "One of the refugees from M59-693 is headed into surgery. D was injured too, but apparently she's being obstinate again."
"Did you tell her about us?" John asked awkwardly as he stood, "Vaughn, I mean."
"No," Elizabeth shook her head, "But she's an incredibly observant person. She figured it out on her own."
"Yeah," John rubbed the back of his neck, "I kind of figured…with the whole 'security protocol' thing."
"Don't worry, John," Elizabeth tilted her head up to give him a brief kiss, "She's not going to say anything. If fact, I think this was her way of saying she approves."
"I'm glad we have the approval of your assistant," John rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around Elizabeth's waist to pull her close.
"Not that we need it," Elizabeth smiled, "but it does make things easier. How else would we have gotten almost an entire night to ourselves?"
"You know my men are terrified of her, right?" John drawled.
"I think it's most of the City at this point," Elizabeth laughed, "I can't imagine why. The only time D's ever raised her voice was during the bug situation and I think that's just because she dislikes Caldwell."
"According to Lt. Kagan," John pecked Elizabeth on the lips before he released her, "It's the quiet ones you have to watch out for."
"Smart man," Elizabeth slipped on her shoes, "Let's go, Colonel. They're expecting us."
*AM*AM*AM*AM*AM*AM*AM*
"Damn it, D!" Carson shouted, "Will you just hold still and let me look at your bloody hand?"
"No," D replied angrily, "Give me the stupid suture kit and let me take care of it."
"You need far more than a couple of sutures," Carson moved towards her, "Now give me your hand before you cause further damage by waving the damn thing around."
"I will not," D took a step back, "Either give me the kit, Carson, or I swear-"
"Hey!" Elizabeth shouted as she came into the room, John only a step behind her, both their views of D blocked by Carson, "What's going on here?"
D glared at Carson as she growled lowly, "You called Elizabeth even after I told you she was not to be disturbed?"
"I most certainly did," Carson straightened as he turned around to face Elizabeth, "Dr. Weir, please tell Dr. Vaughn to let me examine her hand before she gets any more blood on my floors."
Carson stepped to the side to give them a full view of D and she immediately shoved both hands behind her back. She was dressed in one of Teyla's tight Athosian vests, a pale tan that was laced tightly up the center, and pair of warm chocolate brown leather pants over flat shoes of the same textured leather. Her hair was in a thick braid over one shoulder, tied at the end with a strip of braided leather that matched the pants and shoes.
"Dr. Weir," D inclined her head, "I apologize for Dr. Beckett's disruption of your night. I told him it wasn't necessary."
"It's fine," Elizabeth waved a hand, "What's wrong with your hand?"
"Nothing I can't take care of myself, ma'am," D glared at Carson again, "There's no need for you to stay."
John noticed the small, growing puddle of blood on the floor behind D.
"Put both hands out in front of you, Vaughn," John ordered calmly.
"I don't take orders from you, Sheppard," D raised her chin.
"But you do take them from me," Elizabeth stepped forward, "Hands out in front of you, now. Both of them."
"It's not nearly as bad as it looks, ma'am," D sighed as she moved both hands in front of her body. D held them both up for Elizabeth to examine and the other woman gasped. While the left was unscathed, the right had a short knife with an intricately carved wooden handle stuck through the middle.
"Oh my god, D," Elizabeth reached forward to grasp the injured hand gently, "How is this not as bad as it looks? There's a knife stuck in your hand."
"That's what I've been trying to tell her," Carson frowned, "She won't let me take her to the scanner to assess the internal damage."
"I already told you," D scowled down at her hand, "The knife is embedded between two of the metacarpals and while it did nick the superficial palmar arch, it didn't do any permanent damage to the tendons. I've managed to slow the bleeding and if you would give me the suture kit I asked for, I could take the dagger out and start stitching myself up."
"You can't know for certain what-" Carson started.
"Yes, I can," D interrupted, "I was right about the concussion and skull fracture. You didn't believe me then either."
"Even if that's true," Carson stepped forward, "I'm not going to let you suture your own hand. You'll need anesthetics and antibiotics. Not to mention stitching that many layers of tissue is a very delicate process and it will take quite a bit of time."
"If you had given me the kit when I asked for it," D snarled, "I could've been a quarter of the way through the process already."
"If you weren't so bloody pig-headed every time I need to examine you," Carson raised his voice, "I wouldn't have to-"
"Enough, both of you!" Elizabeth interjected as she released D's hand, "D, no more arguing with Carson. Let him fix your hand before you bleed out all over the floor. Carson, you can treat D's hand while she gives us her report."
"Elizabeth," D protested, "I don't need-"
"Are you disobeying a direct order, Dr. Vaughn?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
"No, ma'am," D ducked her head.
"Good," Elizabeth stepped back as Carson moved forward to take D's hand, "Now, what happened?"
"Carson and Teyla thought I would make a good diplomat," D rolled her eyes as Carson led her over to the scanner, "Obviously that didn't work out."
"How does that lead to you having a knife stuck through your hand?" John questioned.
"Hold still, lass," Carson placed D's hand on a large piece of gauze laid in the center of a folded white cloth. He stepped back and the scanner started moving.
"I needed to justify what I was going to do to the Matriarch's son," D stated evenly, "Or rather, I wanted Teyla to be able to justify my actions to the Matriarch in order to keep their deal intact."
"What does that mean exactly?" Elizabeth asked cautiously, "'Justify your actions'."
"It sounds like you let him stab you on purpose," John drawled.
"I did," D shrugged.
Elizabeth's jaw dropped, "You let him stab you?"
"It was the only way I could get away with breaking his arm," D looked over to Elizabeth, "I certainly wasn't going to have sex with the moron."
"D," Elizabeth pinched the bridge of nose, "It's the middle of the night."
"0223, ma'am," D agreed.
"Since it's 0223 and I haven't actually slept much," Elizabeth sighed as she dropped her hand back to her side, "Can you be a bit clearer about what happened?"
"Well, it looks like you were right about the damage," Carson moved away from the screen as the scanner stopped, "I'll need to take you into one of the surgical suites. You'll need to be sedated so I can remove the knife and suture your wound without you interfering."
"No," D said flatly.
"Dr. Vaughn," Carson straightened angrily, "I went to school for many years in order to become a doctor. I assure you, I am more than qualified to operate on your hand. I know what I am doing. You're coming with me to the surgical suite."
"Absolutely not," D refused.
"I did specify no more arguing," Elizabeth reminded her.
"I'm not arguing, ma'am," D stated calmly, "I am stating a fact. I am not going to let Dr. Beckett sedate me."
"Now you listen here, lass," Carson shook his finger at D, "I've had just about-"
D reached down and yanked the knife out of her hand, setting it on the scanner bed as a fresh stream of blood soaked the gauze.
"There," D declared quietly, "Knife out."
"Oh, good lord," Carson rushed over to grab a large stack of fresh gauze from a nearby tray. He stomped over to D and pressed the gauze against the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood, "What the hell were you thinking? You could've done further damage by pulling the damn thing out like that. Not to mention the consequences the additional blood loss could cause. I know your pain tolerance is exceptionally high, but even you can go into shock from something like this."
"It doesn't hurt," D watched with a detached interest as Carson fussed over her hand, "This way you didn't have to sedate me. You only have to stitch it up. I'm perfectly capable of holding still for the duration."
"Ridiculous child," Carson swore under his breath, "Doesn't hurt, my arse."
"Carson," D moved his hand away and pressed the thumb of her left hand into the wound on her right, "It doesn't hurt. See?"
"Stop that, right now," Carson lifted her hand away quickly, "before you make it worse."
"That doesn't hurt?" Elizabeth stepped closer to look over the puncture in D's hand.
"No, ma'am," D shook her head, "My pain response won't normalize for at least another eight hours."
"Pain response?" Elizabeth flicked her glance over to John and back to D, "Est-ce un effet secondaire de l'aide que vous avez apportée à Rodney hier?" [French: Is this a side-effect from helping Rodney yesterday?]
"Oui, madame," D agreed. [French: Yes, ma'am.]
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at D, "Vous m'aviez dit que vous arrêteriez si cela devenait dangereux." [French: You told me you would stop if it got dangerous.]
"Ce n'est pas dangereux, madame," D insisted, "Je ne ressentirai aucune douleur pour au moins douze heures." [French: It's not dangerous, ma'am.] [French: I won't experience any pain for at least twelve hours.]
"How is that not-" Elizabeth cut herself off abruptly, taking a deep breath before she continued evenly, "Colonel Sheppard and I are going to go get reports from everyone else involved. You are going to stay here with Dr. Beckett. Just so there is no confusion, I am ordering you to give Dr. Beckett a full explanation for whatever it is you did yesterday. While you are doing that, you will cooperate fully with whatever medical procedures he deems necessary for your injury," Elizabeth held up a hand to keep D silent when she opened her mouth, "other than sedation. How long has it been since you slept?"
"Fifty-six hours, ma'am," D ducked her head as she replied quietly, "I slept an hour. Forty-seven hours awake and forty-five minutes' sleep before that."
"And since you ate?" Elizabeth questioned.
"I had a power bar and a bottle of water at 2000, ma'am," D answered meekly, "An apple and a piece of toast for breakfast at 0630."
"Someone will deliver a meal to the infirmary for you," Elizabeth continued in her firm tone, "A member of Dr. Beckett's staff will watch you eat the entire thing. After you are finished eating and Carson is done with your hand, you will proceed directly to your quarters, where you will sleep for a minimum of ten hours straight. When you wake up, you will comply fully with any and all medical instructions Dr. Beckett gives you. I'll come to your quarters at 1530 tomorrow and you will give me the same explanation you gave Carson over a late lunch. If I find out you've deviated from my orders in the slightest – and believe me, Dr. Vaughn, I will find out – the consequences will be extremely unpleasant for you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," D kept her gaze on the floor.
"Dr. Beckett," Elizabeth turned to him, "Thank you for calling me. Please inform your staff that from now on when Dr. Vaughn is brought into the infirmary for any reason, I am to be contacted immediately, no matter the time or severity of the injury."
"Of course, Dr. Weir," Carson agreed.
"Where is Teyla now?" Elizabeth inquired.
"She's with the Matriarch in the observation room," Carson gestured with his chin as he switched out the bloody gauze on D's hand, "above suite three."
"Thank you," Elizabeth started walking in the direction Carson had indicated, "Colonel Sheppard, with me please."
When John finally caught up with Elizabeth at the top of the stairs, he pulled her to a stop with a light grip on her elbow.
"If I ask what happened between Vaughn and McKay yesterday," John dropped his hand, "are you going to give me a straight answer?"
"No," Elizabeth tightened her jaw, "And to be honest, I'm not entirely sure what happened myself."
"Then why are you so ticked off at her right now?" John asked.
"I'm not really mad at her," Elizabeth clarified, "I'm mad at myself because I was so wrapped in everything that was going on, I forgot that given half the chance D would work herself to death trying to do what I wanted. I'm mad because I let her take care of everyone else at the expense of her own well-being. I'm mad because I took advantage of her nature by not paying enough attention."
"You couldn't have known something like this would happen, Elizabeth," John assured her, "There's no way you could've predicted she'd let someone stab her."
"Ce ne serait pas la première fois," Elizabeth muttered under her breath. [French: It wouldn't be the first time.]
"What?" John wondered.
"I should have known better," Elizabeth took another deep breath, her voice strong when she continued, "I won't be making that mistake again."
"Isn't Vaughn supposed to be taking care of you," John drawled, "not the other way around?"
"Is that what she told you?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
"That's what most people assume," John studied Elizabeth's face carefully, "Are they wrong?"
"Not wrong," Elizabeth replied cautiously, "They just don't have the whole story. I'm just as responsible for D as she is for me."
"Does she know that?" John asked softly.
"Of course, she…" Elizabeth trailed off with a frown and looked down the stairs towards the infirmary.
"You know I don't normally stick my nose in other people's business," John shoved his hands in his pockets, "In fact, I try to avoid it as much as possible, but if I thought you were pissed at her, imagine what she must be thinking."
"Crap," Elizabeth closed her eyes with a soft sigh, "Elle ne se doute pas que je ne suis pas en colère contre elle. Je n'ai fait qu'empirer les choses." [French: She has no idea that I'm not mad at her. I made things worse.]
"I really need to learn some French," John smiled at Elizabeth as she opened her eyes to look up at him, "I'm not sure what you just said, but I can guess. I can take care of the incident reports if you want to…"
"No, it's all right," Elizabeth straightened, "I'll speak with her tomorrow. This needs to be handled now."
"You're the boss," John stepped to the side, "I'll get a report from the Marines so you can talk with Teyla."
"Thank you, Colonel," Elizabeth headed toward the observation room.