John woke by degrees to the sounds of voices. At first, he didn't know where he was. He was pretty sure he heard Beckett's voice. Scratch that, he was really sure. So that meant...infirmary? But why wasn't Keller there? And the ground beneath him was hard and uncomfortable, and there seemed to be something spread over him but he was still cold, and that didn't seem much like the infirmary either.

Then, the events of the past few days slowly came trickling back. He was in the Gateroom, after the rest of Atlantis had been nearly destroyed by the fire, and he had almost died from a spider bite. Zelenka and Ronon had been planning on collecting Carson from off-planet, and that had clearly worked, although John didn't really remember that last bit. He had a vague memory of someone leaning over him, whispering things meant to be comforting, but that really could have been any of them.

John took a brief inventory of his physical well-being, keeping his eyes closed for now. Clearly, Beckett had done something that was working, because yesterday John mostly remembered feeling so terrible he was sure he was going to die, and now he felt...not like that. Not good, but...not like that.

John still felt the achy, sickly exhaustion that often came after a fever. He remembered feeling horrible dizzy, and that was mostly gone, although the nausea lingered. Beckett was probably going to force fluids on him as soon as he opened his eyes, and maybe even some light food, but John wasn't convinced it would stay down.

He had a headache, but it felt more like the kind of headache he would expect from dehydration then the strange, stabbing pains the venom had left him with. All in all, he felt better than he would have expected, given how he'd felt last night.

Or...what if it wasn' t last night? The thought that he may have slept much longer than anticipated filled him with a sudden fear, and he peeled his gummy eyelids apart in panic.

"He's awake." John could tell that it was Ronon by his voice, but by the time he'd finished blinking his eyes back into focus, it was Carson leaning over him.

"How are you feeling, son?"

"How long?" John demanded, hearing the raspiness in his throat, much to his dismay. Was he just dehydrated, or had he been lying on the Gateroom floor for days?

Carson just looked at him, confused, and John tried to sit up before falling back down, muscles trembling.

"How long was I out?" John managed, closing his eyes in exhaustion before ripping them open again.

"The Doc's only been here for a few hours," Ronon told him. "You didn't miss much."

"He has only had time to administer antivenom and complain ceaselessly about the pigeons," Zelenka muttered angrily from somewhere out of John's line of sight.

"Bloody pigeons," Carson hissed, then shook his head. "That's not important right now. Colonel Sheppard, you should be feeling better now. I expect you'll still be quite weak, and a bit nauseous, but your fever's better and you're not quite on death's doorstep anymore."

"Thanks," John mumbled, suddenly horribly embarrassed. He'd been too ill before to really think about what was happening to him, but now that his brain wasn't completely occupied with being in pain, he was starting to remember. He wasn't sure which was the most mortifying, being so disoriented that Ronon had to fetch him from a hallway, throwing up from vertigo, or even just almost dying because of yet another bug. That was far too many humiliating moments to choose from, in his opinion. Not to mention that Ronon had actually had to go fetch Carson from whatever important work he was doing on another planet, just so he could save them from their latest scrape.

"Sorry you had to come back," John said softly. His throat still hurt, but he didn't think that he'd be able to keep water down just yet. Besides, unless a lot had changed when he was unconscious, he was pretty sure that they didn't really have any water.

"Oh, don't be silly," Carson told him. "If I'd come back to Atlantis for a visit and found pigeons everywhere, and a gigantic hole in the roof, I'd have been even more upset. At least this way, I knew something terrible had happened before I went through the Gate."

John had somehow forgotten about the pigeons. "Are there...more now?"

Carson looked like he might start crying. "Where are they coming from?" he asked miserably.

"The pigeons are the least of our problems," Zelenka said, sounding annoyed. John wondered how many times they'd had this conversation before he'd woken up. By the sound of it, many, many times.

"There are feathers everywhere, and...and droppings…."

Zelenka shook his head and muttered something in Czech. Carson looked like he might continue complaining, but managed to contain himself.

"I'm going to give you a wee examination, John," Beckett said. His voice hardly sounded strained. "And then I think you should get some more sleep."

"More sleep?" John said unhappily. "Come on, Doc."

"You're probably still exhausted," Carson pointed out. John couldn't really argue with that. He was.

"I wanted to get you a little more stable before really taking a look at your wrist," Carson said. John winced. His wrist was throbbing horribly, and even thinking about what it might look like under all of the bandages made him feel a little sick. He kind of wished Carson had taken a look at it when he was still unconscious.

John reluctantly shifted to give Beckett better access to his injured arm, and a spike of pain radiated up through his shoulder. He hissed in displeasure, and Carson made an unhappy sound.

"I apologize, son, I don't have a full arsenal of painkillers in my bag. I don't want to cause an undue reaction with the toxin, and I haven't been able to access the infirmary yet…."

"It's alright, Doc," John managed through gritted teeth. He wished he was able to sit up, even just a little, but he didn't quite think that was something he could manage yet. Even lifting just his head up made things spin dangerously, and he was too weak to get his good arm beneath him just yet.

Carson gently took his arm, and peeled off the bandages. It wasn't the same bandages Ronon had applied the day before - Carson must have done a temporary dressing while John was unconscious.

"I'll have to ask you a few questions," Carson said apologetically.

"Um, is it supposed to look like that?" Zelenka interrupted.

John hadn't actually seen his own wrist yet, not whatever was underneath the bandages. He could guess it was bad - he could see that it was swollen, and it hurt terribly. But he didn't know what it really looked like, and he found himself filled with a sudden morbid curiosity.

John rolled his head to the side, and dragged his heavy, achy arm into view. Immediately, he wished he hadn't, especially when his stomach was already feeling iffy. Carson seemed to notice, and put a hand on his shoulder as John fought valiantly against a sudden and unexpected wave of bile.

His arm was dark purple from his palm down through most of his forearm. It almost looked like a regular bruise, albeit a bad one, except his wrist had swelled up like a balloon, the skin smooth and tight-looking like a sausage about to escape its casing. No wonder it ached. He hadn't actually managed to see the bite, and now he didn't think he wanted to.

Carson sighed. "Yes and no. The Colonel has suffered a very nasty, apparently very poisonous, spider bite, so while I was hoping it'd look better than this, this is about what I expected."

John gulped, staring at his wrist. The colors and size were so alien that he was almost shocked that it was attached to him. It reminded him of the time he'd transformed into the Iratus bug-like creature, and he did not like being reminded of that.

"Will…." John trailed off, a pit of fear suddenly pooling in his stomach. Throughout all of this, he'd never once thought to worry about being permanently injured. Now that he'd actually seen how bad the injury was, it was the first thing on his mind.

He cleared his throat and tried again. "Will it...uhh, be okay?" He hoped his voice wasn't shaking as much as he thought that it might be.

Carson looked shocked, then nodded and patted his shoulder. John allowed it, just this once.

"Yes, John. It looks bad now, but I can get it fixed up. Your wrist will be fine."

John breathed a sigh of relief that left him dizzy, and nodded. Carson redirected his attention towards John's injury, and John hissed as even Beckett's light touch sent pain coursing through his wrist. He gritted his teeth and focused his attention on staying in control, hoping that the examination would be over soon.

At least the Colonel was looking better. That, in Zelenka's opinion, was the one single bright spot of their current situation. Even the pigeons were no longer a comfort to him.

Of course, now that Zelenka wasn't actively worried that John was about to suddenly stop breathing, he had more mental space to worry about what would happen when Woolsey came back. So far, he'd spent a few hours running a betting game against himself on the question of how long it would take Woolsey to fire him after seeing the Gateroom. The best odds were on five minutes.

Radek wondered if McKay would be there. Probably. Rodney seemed to have a habit of turning up at the worst places at the worst times. He'd probably be standing there laughing smugly as Woolsey yelled at Zelenka….

No. That was not to be borne. Radek stood up suddenly, dislodging a few pigeons and startling the dozy Colonel awake.

"We are going to clean up the Gateroom," Zelenka announced.

He was met with three blank stares.

"We are going to clean up the Gateroom," Zelenka repeated, as if possibly the group hadn't heard him.

"Why?" Ronon asked.

"Because right now, it is very obvious that something terrible has happened," Radek explained. "Mr. Woolsey will know that something is wrong the second that he walks through the Gate, and he will be very angry. But perhaps we can get ahead of that if the Gateroom doesn't look so bad when he arrives back here."

"There's a hole in the ceiling," Carson pointed out. "So...ah…."

"It will at least buy us some time," Zelenka insisted.

"What about the scorch marks?" Ronon asked.

"Those can be cleaned off," Zelenka said firmly.

"I don't think that's how that works," John murmured sleepily. He was still lying on the ground, but his eyes were opened and he was clearly following at least most of the conversation.

Zelenka felt bad snapping at John, especially when he was clearly still in so much pain, so he lowered his voice a little. "I understand that we cannot put the Gateroom completely back to normal. But perhaps if we can get it as close to normal as we can, that will help our case."

"And who knows?" Ronon said with a shrug. "Maybe something will come along and fix the ceiling after all."

Zelenka personally thought that was unlikely, but then again a meteor had hit Atlantis and started a fire, and that was only the beginning of their problems. If they could have luck that bad, surely it must be possible for them to have good luck too.

"Alright," John said softly. "Let's get this started."

He began to haul himself to his feet, and both Ronon and Carson were at his side instantly, shoving him back down.

"What are you doing?" Carson practically hissed.

"Cleanin' up the Gateroom," John protested weakly. "I thought…."

"No," Zelenka said firmly. "You cannot help us put everything back together. You cannot even walk. Just...just stay there."

"I wanna…."

"I will let you know if I need anything."

John scowled, eyes glinting with the stubbornness that Zelenka was shocked hadn't gotten him fired or killed. "I can help."

"Colonel," Carson said sharply. "How are you proposing to walk around with an IV in your arm?"

John opened his mouth to respond, but Carson held up a hand. "Ah-ah-ah. Before you say what you're no doubt considerin', I'll remind you that while your hand and wrist should be fine, if you do reckless things like ripping out IVs when you should be resting, they won't be."

Zelenka didn't think that this was true - he was pretty sure that John was just on fluids at the moment, and if he took out the IV, he stood a greater chance of passing out than he did of losing his arm. Still, it apparently scared John enough to quiet him down. Looking upset, he allowed Carson and Ronon to push him back down. The next time Zelenka looked over at him, he even appeared to be asleep.

"Alright. Ronon, Carson, you can move the rubble. I will get to work cleaning off the scorch marks."

"Where are we supposed to put the rubble?" Carson asked, looking deeply unhappy.

"Away," Zelenka said. "I do not care. Anywhere aside from here, where Woolsey will see it as soon as he steps through the Gate. Put it in a closet. Or on a balcony."
"Throw it in the ocean," Ronon suggested, perking up at the thought.

"Why not. Throw it into the ocean."

"Uhh, Doc? How are you gonna clean off scorch marks without water?"

Zelenka had not thought about that. But he wasn't about to let that stop him now. "Sandpaper will work just as well," he said with conviction, hoping that was true.

"Won't there just be scuff marks on the wall, then?"

"We can paint- We will cross that bridge when we come to it," Zelenka snapped, inadvertently startling John. He twitched in his sleep, softly muttering something inaudible.

Carson sighed and turned towards the rubble, shooing pigeons off the rocks as he went. "Ach, there are feathers everywhere," he said miserably, screwing up his face at the sight of the feathers and bird poop that invariably came along with pigeons.

"It's okay, Doc," Ronon said, patting Carson on the shoulder. "Pigeons that lose their feathers are ripe for eating."

Zelenka spluttered. "That...that is simply untrue. Pigeons are not fruit. Do you not know what moulting is?"

"Uhh, nope. We'll see who's right when I cook 'em."

For the first time in many, many years, Zelenka truly thought that he might be about to cry. If Carson's face was anything to go by, the Doctor also might be about to cry - either that or vomit, possibly at the idea of Ronon making him eat a pigeon.

"Please don't say things like that, son," he finally managed.

Ronon made a face, but possibly realized that continuing to discuss the pigeons was going to result in nothing good, and left the Gateroom to deposit his current load of rubble somewhere else.

Despite the pigeons, the general atmosphere of tension, and the sleeping Colonel they needed to be quiet around, Zelenka actually felt that they were being quite productive. Zelenka alone wouldn't have been able to do much with the Gateroom, but now that Carson was here, and Ronon's shoulder had been properly taken care of, there were enough people to begin to make a dent in it. Within a few hours, they had cleared out the worst of the rubble from the center of the Gateroom and swept the floor and stairs. Zelenka still wasn't sure how much he'd be able to do about the scorch marks, but honestly, they were pretty much obscured by the pigeons anyways. At least they hadn't seen anymore spiders.

The biggest problem they kept running into was John. About every ten minutes, he would wake up disoriented, see they were cleaning the Gateroom, and ask if he could help. He didn't protest when Carson reminded him he needed to rest, but he looked so petulant and unhappy that by the fourth or fifth time he'd done it, Zelenka was considering giving him some small task he could work on from the corner, just to keep him quiet. Zelenka figured that was probably a better option than drugging him, which he was half-hoping Carson would do.

By the end of the day, Zelenka was so absorbed in trying to remove the shattered glass from the floor of the balcony that he didn't even notice that Carson had gotten quieter and quieter. That is, until he suddenly made a sort of estranged sound and dropped whatever he was holding with a loud clanging sound.

John immediately sat bolt upright, looking pale and disheveled. "What's up?" he asked worriedly. "Everythin' okay?"

"There are bird droppings everywhere," Carson snapped. "I've stepped in them. Again."

"It's okay, Doc," Ronon said. "They wash right off. I think."

"We should not be trying to clean up the Gateroom," Carson snapped. Zelenka realized with dawning horror that he wasn't sure he had ever heard the good doctor sound this unhinged. "That's clearly an impossible task, when we still have all these bloody...birds everywhere."

"Well, Zelenka wouldn't let me shoot 'em, so I think we're stuck with them," Ronon said, shooting Zelenka a baleful glare.

"This situation is completely untenable," Carson shouted, trying hopelessly to scrape his shoe against the ground and only managing to spread around the droppings. "Untenable, do you hear?"

John's eyes slowly widened, mirroring the expression on Ronon's face, and Zelenka was sure on his own as well. "You okay, Doc?"

"I will be," Carson announced grimly, turned on his heel, and left the room. The three of them blinked after him, confused.

"Where is he going?" John asked.

"I do not know," Zelenka muttered. "Perhaps...that is the hallway to the infirmary, so maybe there?"

There was a long moment of silence. As far as Zelenka knew, none of them had seen Carson ever act remotely like this.

"Maybe he'll come back," Ronon said hopefully, and that seemed to be that for the time being. Shrugging, the Satedan turned back to the rubble, and Zelenka followed suit, hoping Carson would reappear in his own time.