'Erisinia': that is for another chapter :o)
High fives to all reviewers.
Five.
Carson came back into the medical bay from a quick breakfast in the cafeteria. Rodney was still asleep, laying on his left side, facing away from the world. Major Sheppard, however, was awake, watching the doctor approach.
Carson smiled, checking the monitors. "How are ya today, major?"
John swallowed, blinked slowly, then answered, "-k...confused."
Carson pressed his lips together, nodding. "It's to be expected. Ya had a mighty smack to the head." He helped John onto his side and raised the head of the bed one notch.
John brought his hand up to rub a throbbing spot on his forehead only to thunk himself with the cast. "Ow," he whined, ignoring Carson's amused grin. "That's my gun hand, too." He frowned at the offending wrap, racking his memory for what could have happened. "What the hell?"
The doctor watched his patient try to find the pieces that fit into the puzzle that was the past twenty-four hours. From the frowning, he deduced that it must be eluding him. "What do ya remember?" he prodded.
John blinked, cleared his throat. "Uh, planet, lots of trees...Rodney found s...something underground," pause to sip the water Carson handed him. "Thanks." The frown reappeared. "McKay prattling on...a bright light..." He shook his head, closing his eyes. "It's all pieces."
Carson sighed. Watching victims of memory loss was always difficult. He wished he could just give John the answers but it was Carson that needed the answers. "From what we know, Rodney was exploring a building that he thinks was intentionally buried. He called ya down to see some sort of diagnostic device. When ya two tried it out, which was a pretty stupid move, Rodney blacked out. Does that help any?"
John shook his head. "McKay tell you all that?"
"Not in so many words. He hasn't been able to utter a sound since regaining consciousness."
John eyes shot wide, his gut twisted in a cold knot. "Oh my god, brain damage?"
Carson shrugged. "I can't find anythin wrong with him. Brain damage or otherwise. We need ya to remember what happened."
John's brow furrowed, upper lip pulled in, he stared hard across the room replaying the things he could remember. Movement out of the corner of his eye turned him to see Rodney sitting on his bed, body tense, brow drawn in a deep frown, scribbling on a tablet.
Rodney had heard Carson and John talking. Talking. He sat up, grabbing his legal pad and fat black marker. Anger made him tremble as he wrote for a second then limped over to Major Sheppard's bed. He stuck the tablet in John's face. 'What the hell did you do to me?'
John looked from the sloppy note to McKay's irate eyes. "Me?"
Rodney nodded, his mouth set in a tight line.
"If I did this to you, you probably deserved it," John shot back. 'Blaming me? He's the one that always touches things.'
Rodney scrawled furiously on the tablet. John exchanged glances with Carson, who shrugged in return. Both men read the new note.
'I was merely explaining the purpose of the device to you. You turned it on when I wasn't ready.'
A sinking feeling invaded John. Did he cause this? His features softened as he looked back at Rodney. "I'm...I'm sorry. I don't remember what happened..." He was interrupted by a deep cough that stabbed pain through his chest and made his head feel like it would pop off.
Carson intervened, grabbing the oxygen mask with the albuterol line to hold over Major Sheppard's face. "Rodney, it's enough. Get back to that bed." He turned to John. "It's okay, major. It's bronchitis brought about by all that alien dust ya inhaled." When the ragged breathing eased, he continued, "And memory loss is common with head trauma. I suspect ya'll regain yer memories over the duration of the week." He used his best doctor voice to reassure the major but, in truth, amnesia was tricky and unpredictable.
As Rodney limped away, John felt as if someone had pulled his batteries. Carson was talking but he couldn't hear much over the buzzing in his ears. The room started to tilt and spin, his vision tunneled on Carson's face.
Dr Beckett saw John's eyes glaze and his body sag. He grabbed his penlight, doing a quick pupil check. "Looks like we've tired ya out. Get some rest, major. Ya'll feel better when ya wake."
John fought the pull of sleep. He didn't want to sleep. He wanted to remember so he could help Rodney. His eyelids got heavier with each blink, until finally, he couldn't pry them open again.
Carson watched the major fight and lose the battle against the much needed sleep. He got some extra pillows to prop behind the man's back so he wouldn't roll onto those ribs then went to his office.
Rodney's body shook, sitting on the edge of his bed. He watched and listened as Carson took care of Major Sheppard. Why did he do that? Why did he blatantly blame John for his...predicament? It wasn't completely John's fault. Rodney told him to put his hand in the damn depression. Would a good friend have ignored good sense and put his hand there? Or would a good friend have said 'not a chance am I endangering your life merely to protect your pride'? Rodney decided John was a good friend, his best friend and trusted Rodney's judgment enough to put his hand on that device.
'I'm the one that screwed up,' Rodney thought to himself with distain. His features long and ashamed, he glanced at John, propped by pillows, now asleep. He squinted, seeing him shiver. Remorse and regret came over him. 'He's like that because of me.' Rodney pulled his own wool blanket from his bed, rolling it in a ball. He limped back to the major's side. Hesitating a moment, he just watched him sleep, trying to understand the logic inside John Sheppard's head. 'Why would he protect me?' He unrolled the blanket, tucking it securely over his friend. "I'm sorry," he tried to whisper but not a sound would be heard.
