Chapter Two: Not My Mother

Dr. Beckett's daily reports on his patient's condition had been closely attended by the rest of the team. McKay had remained unconscious for a worrying two days, after which he had been only rarely lucid for another day. The Scotsman claimed he was now slowly improving, although he spent most of the time asleep and when awake suffered from massive headaches, occasional nausea and some short-term memory loss. The stab wound in his arm, though deep, was easily repaired with a few stitches and showed no sign of infection.

Dr. Beckett had only today allowed McKay to have visitors. He warned them that his patient might fall asleep suddenly in the middle of a conversation, or might not remember something that had happened only moments before. Sheppard had purposely waited until the others saw him first. He secretly hoped that the scientist would be too tired for him to stay long: he never felt comfortable around sick people, and admitted - if only to himself - that seeing the normally frenetic Canadian so apathetic was somehow deeply disturbing.

Sheppard paused in the doorway. McKay didn't look much better now than he had when Sheppard had first seen him, battered and bloody, on the floor of the Command Center nearly a week ago. Seeing his teammate lying there on the bed with his eyes closed, both sides of his high forehead still colorful with bruises, while the rest of his face was as white as the pillows behind him, brought back the whole appalling scene in the Command Center. Sheppard found himself breathing fast, heart racing, and forced himself to calm down. Experience had taught him the skills he now used to take control of his body and emotions and put away his anxieties.

As he watched, McKay frowned and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes without ever opening them. A barely perceptible shudder ran through him, bringing to Sheppard's attention the noticeably thinner frame under the blanket. Even his round face seemed pinched. A soft, desperate moan sounded deep in his throat, and he slowly rolled onto his side and into a fetal position, arms circling his head as if to keep it from coming off.

Sheppard suddenly realized the scientist had no idea that anyone was in the room with him.

"McKay," he called softly. He was rewarded with a grunt. The injured man uncurled slightly, and said hoarsely, "Go 'way."

"Bad headache?" He said it just to get a rise out of McKay - it was too obviously dumb a statement to resist - but his only answer was another grunt, this one closer to a groan.

A distant childhood memory drifted into his head, and he sat in the chair placed next to the bed, reached over...and began to gently rub McKay's back.

At the first touch, the Canadian stiffened, but didn't look up.

"What're you...?"

"When I was about seven, I fell out of a tree and conked myself on the head. I had awful headaches for a couple of days, and I remember my mother would sit beside me and rub my back. It seemed to help."

"No' my moth'," Rodney slurred. His head hurt too much to move or even speak, and the large warm hand making slow circles in the middle of his back was so soothing, he found himself slipping away from conscious thought.

"No, I'm not your mother. But you're a member of my team, and I take care of my people."

His only response was a weary sigh as Rodney drifted off into a deep sleep.

Ten minutes later, Carson Beckett came in to check on his patient and stopped dead in the doorway, then slowly smiled at the scene in front of him. McKay lay almost on his stomach, sleeping peacefully, the lines of pain on his face lighter than they had been since he first woke up. He was facing away from Major Sheppard, who sprawled bonelessly in the chair, snoring softly, his hand still stretched out to rest on McKay's back.

Carson tiptoed out and shut the door. He turned and almost jumped out of his skin to find Dr. Weir right behind him.

"Have you seen Major Sheppard? I told him not to wear Rodney out."

"Major Sheppard is unavailable for the next few hours. Doctor's orders."

The worry line instantly appeared between Elizabeth's brows. "Unavailable? Is he-"

"Dinnae worry, ma'am. He fell asleep visitin' Rodney. In fact, they're both sound asleep and I'm leaving orders not to disturb them. And I suggest you try to get some rest before I decide to sedate you." Beckett scowled ferociously at her, then ruined it with a grin. Elizabeth smiled back, feeling much of the past week's tension finally slip away.

To Beckett's surprise, Major Sheppard sought him out when he awoke and asked to be informed whenever McKay's headaches got bad. Carson, seeing Sheppard's determination overriding his embarrassment, agreed without comment. He was in favor of anything that would help Rodney, especially since the last headache had been so severe that he had been forced to sedate the injured man.

True to his word, when he found McKay almost sobbing with pain in the early hours of the morning, he called the major, who hauled himself out of bed and came to sit beside Rodney and rub his back with surprising patience. Later, after Rodney had fallen asleep, he pulled Sheppard aside.

"Ye don't have to do this, Major. I have nurses who can do that for him. I know ye have plenty to do yourself."

Sheppard smiled tiredly. "I know that, Doc. I don't mind doing it. And I'm not so sure it would work as well with someone else. I know all I'm doing is rubbing his back, but...I need to do this for him. He saved my life. It's a trust issue. A teammate thing, y'know?"

Carson did know, and didn't argue further. He had a quiet word with Dr. Weir to have Sheppard's workload lightened, and the soldier showed up every time Beckett called him, no matter what time it was or what he was doing.

TBC...