Rodney slipped unnoticed into the infirmary and stood at the door, pondering what next to do. The thought of actually confronting Eliz-no, Doctor Weir, safer that way-made him cringe, but he had to do it. If he didn't, Sheppard would use him for target practice, not to mention what Ford and Teyla had said they'd do.
But how did you talk to someone you'd got pregnant without even touching them?
He sighed and looked around, hoping to catch a lab aid's eye, but none seemed to be present. It was, after all, late, and with no extra injured to look after they were probably relaxing or even sleeping. Which could be a good thing. No witnesses. He was jittery enough without people staring at him.
Finally, he decided that enough was enough, and walked towards the corner of the room where he knew Elizabeth would be resting-or supposed to be resting. To his dismay-and relief-Beckett was already there, standing over her. The Scot turned around as soon as Rodney walked up and motioned for silence.
Rodney frowned and stepped a little closer, looking over Beckett's shoulder to see the sleeping woman. Her face was creased in a tiny frown, and her eyes were moving rapidly behind the lids. A quick look at Beckett showed that the doctor was concerned about something, which sent Rodney's pulse racing.
"What's the matter?" he asked softly-at least as softly as he could in his panicked state, "She's not dying is she? And the baby's okay? That's it isn't it? The baby isn't forming correctly because of the advanced rate of growth and…"
"Actually," Carson interrupted, sounding annoyed, "I was more worried for Dr. Weir's state of mind."
"What d'you mean?" Rodney couldn't keep the indignation out of his voice. To imply that Elizabeth was in any manner unsound affronted his sensibilities for some odd reason.
Beckett sighed and pulled Rodney away from the bed, and continued in a low tone of voice, "She's been knocked unconscious twice in as many days, and while I haven't found any indication of brain damage, she's been talking to herself, something I've never seen her do before."
Rodney nodded slowly, remembering the first time he'd seen her knocked out. Her face had been so pale at the time, and it had scared him to death. She'd woken up just fine then, though, so he hadn't worried any more about it. Even when she'd mumbled something about edible boxers.
"It's not your fault, ye know," Beckett said suddenly, "This could've happened ta any o' us with the gene."
"But Elizabeth.."
"…does'na have the gene, true," Beckett finished, "But you do, and that was apparently enough. I'm only goin' on your information, mind."
"Yeah," Rodney agreed, his voice soft with remorse, "That's what I've been able to determine so far." Whatever anyone said, it was his fault.
"Well, I'm goin' to get some sleep," Beckett said to fill the silence that had stretched between them, "You should as well. Those bags under your eyes aren' a'tall attractive." Then the doctor stood and left the infirmary.
Rodney stood there for a moment and then muttered, "Yeah, well…" before he fully realized Beckett had left. Shaking his head, he turned towards the bed once more and then took a few shaky steps over to it, until he was standing at the side, looking down on the occupant.
Her face was still pale, but the eye movements had ceased, and now she looked rather peaceful. The nervous tension he'd sensed in her earlier had ebbed away as she slumbered. Rodney found himself smiling for some reason. It wasn't because she was beautiful, lying there with her mussed hair framing her face, her lips parted slightly, her….
No no…not going to go there, Rodney thought frantically, trying to push the image out of his mind. He stepped away from the bed, tripping in his haste and fell forward, catching himself on the bed. Her face was inches from his; his breath caught in his throat. He could smell the shampoo she used, a scent he couldn't identify, that nevertheless smelled wonderful and made his senses reel.
Taking a deep breath, he levered himself up to his elbows, then fell again in surprise when he found a pair of blue eyes looking into his own.
"Son of a…" he muttered, feeling his knee wrench from landing on it. He pulled himself to his feet and sat on the side of the bed, pretending he didn't know Elizabeth was awake and rubbing his knee. That was going to leave a bruise.
"Rodney?"
"Oh, Elizabeth, you're awake." It didn't come out as convincingly surprised as he wanted, but it would do. He hoped. He refused to look at her, just in case.
"What were you doing?" the soft voice held an amused, almost teasing, edge to it. "Just because you got me pregnant, doesn't mean you can have your way with me when I'm not awake."
No, not almost, definitely teasing.
Before Rodney could stop himself, he retorted, "So it's okay if you're awake?"
There was a snort of laughter, and he chanced a look. She was still laying back, but had her eyes focused on him. He smiled tentatively, suddenly pleased. If she could laugh about the situation, then things weren't as bad as he had first thought.
"It really wasn't your fault you know," she said, suddenly serious, "Carson's right. It could have happened to anybody. It was just our luck that it happened to us."
"You were awake the whole time," he accused, though only half-heartedly. When she said it, he believed it, and he couldn't account for that at all. It just made him more jittery.
"Not the whole time," she said with a smile, "I just happened to wake up when Carson was saying that."
"Oh."
There didn't seem to be much else to say to that, and they sat there, comfortable in the silence.