MISCONSTRUED - Part IV - by NotTasha
Thank
you for all the delicious feedback. You've been so wonderful to
me. Thanks! Oh, and remember, I know nothing about
medicine. If this is all wrong... just go with it :-)
CHAPTER 11: LIKE CRAP
Ford woke a with a start. Bleary-eyed, confused, he looked around, finding himself in Beckett's comfortable waiting room – and the doctor standing at the entrance with a steaming mug in his hand.
"Ach," Carson said. "I see you didn't leave at all last night." He sighed, shaking his head. His hair was still wet from a recent shower and his unrumbled clothing told that he'd at least made it back to his room.
"Fell asleep," Ford mumbled.
"Yes, I could see that," Carson replied. He gestured to the mug, saying, "I'd offer you a cup of coffee, but I only brought enough for me… and it's tea."
"Hmmmph," Ford replied, running a hand through his close-cropped hair and trying to shake himself from sleep. They'd freed the two scientists as quickly and carefully as possible from their tomb. McKay's injuries distressed Beckett, and he'd shouted at his people about the urgency of getting the physicist back as soon as possible. Zelenka had worried him. A large bump was found at the back of his head, and little else. Radek's pupil's were dilated and he'd had given them no reaction to stimuli. He remained as still as death.
They'd been strapped down to boards and toted toward the exit. And thankfully, the seismic activity seemed to have quieted – for the time being at least.
Carrying McKay and Zelenka through the narrow tunnel had been harrowing. Maneuvering through the tight space carrying litters was hardly easy, but Zelenka's stillness helped. McKay was less accommodating, but Beckett's constant litany of "Keep still, Rodney. Don't move a'tall. We've got you. We'll get you out," seemed to help. McKay, for his part, tried not to put up a struggle, but every movement was tortuous to handle.
The journey had been completed surprisingly quickly, and they'd brought the scientists out to the cold night air of P6M-301.
Doctors Burnaby and Powell had remained at the entrance, buzzing with questions, asking where McKay and Zelenka had been found, what had happened to them. They wanted all the particulars – how far were they from Merritt? Who was found first? Ford had looked at them as if they'd grown extra heads when they started badgering him about the device, and finally he had to send Fairholm and Richmond back into the tunnel to retrieve this vital piece of technology.
The two marines had emerged quickly with the cumbersome box just as Beckett had finished preparing Rodney and Radek for the journey back. They loaded the injured men and the scavenged device on the MALP and brought them back to Atlantis.
Ford had traveled with his friends as far as he could. He'd ridden with them on the MALP, as Rodney came to, confused, pained, struggling. It had taken a few frantic moments to keep him still, to assure him that he was safe. Ford remembered staring into those terrified, pain-filled eyes as McKay grasped at him. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," Ford had chanted, wishing it was. The physicist hadn't lasted long, and Ford doubted that he ever knew what was going on. He slipped back into unconsciousness almost immediately, leaving Ford with a racing heart.
He'd accompanied them through the Gate, and had followed Beckett's team as gurneys carried Rodney and Radek from the Gateroom, leaving Burnaby and Powell to deal with the device.
And then he had waited, after Rodney had been taken to surgery – internal injuries – bleeding himself to death inside. Radek was taken to MRI to find out what was going on inside his head. The infirmary was crowded, filled with scientists injured in the collapse, their colleagues, and the medical staff trying to take care of them all. Ford had attempted to find a quiet spot to wait for word, but the noise within the facility was getting to him. And the words being bandied about were even more troubling.
They were all nattering non-stop about the cave-in, about how Merritt had died, how the others had left him, how Merritt would be alive and well – if not for that device – if McKay hadn't made him stay below and remove it. And why had Merritt been left to face his fate in the hallway instead of being allowed into the safe room with the others?
Ford had no idea about what had happened in that underground complex, he just needed to get away from the jabbering of the intellectuals. He needed to get away from their conjectures and assumptions. He couldn't hear it just yet – not with the death of Sgt. Moody so vivid in his memory, not after seeing what happened to Dr. Merritt, not after finding McKay in so much pain and Zelenka so absolutely silent. So, he slid out into Beckett's lovely waiting room – containing the softest, most comfortable chairs in Atlantis.
Easily, he'd slid into an overstuffed chair. Most waiting rooms back in their home galaxy seemed to be dominated by hard, plastic seats that felt like crap after one sat in them for more than ten minutes. Ford had no idea where Beckett had gotten his furniture, but it was times like this that he wanted to kiss the Scot. He'd fallen asleep before he even realized he was so very tired. And now, awake, he wanted to know everything.
"How are they?" Ford asked Beckett, his face open with worry.
Beckett nodded. "Rodney made it through surgery. He was pretty banged up inside. It took longer than we would have wanted, but we've got the damage all sewn up. Got a nasty rap on the head, broke a couple of ribs, and his arm has a rather painful fracture. He's gonna be sore for a while, I'm afraid."
"So, he's going to be fine?" Ford asked anxiously.
Beckett stated, "We believe so."
Frowning, Ford pressed him, "You 'believe' so?"
Beckett let out a breath. "He was in pretty bad shape, lieutenant. He'd bled inside for hours before we got to him. His broken ribs are givin' him trouble breathing. He seems to be improving, but only time will tell."
Ford nodded, accepting this. 'Improving' was better than the other thing. "And what about Dr. Zelenka?"
Again, Beckett sighed. "His shelter was apparently larger than Rodney's, but he received a rather severe blow to the head. There's some swelling. He's under medication that should relieve that."
"Swelling?"
"His brain, lad, inside his skull," Beckett responded.
"That's not good," Ford responded.
Beckett nodded glumly. "Aye," he replied. "He's respondin' to the medication, so we won't have to go about drillin' holes in his head. He hasn't come around and it may be some time before he does. We have to hope. We just have to wait and hope. Wouldn't hurt to say a prayer." He took a sip from his mug to end the conversation, then stated, "Come on then." Carson opened the other door to the infirmary. "Let's go see how they're doin'."
The infirmary was quieter than the night before – the visitors had departed and the injured were resting – until they saw Beckett; then, a hue and cry went up as they voiced their pains and aches, demanding information, diagnosing themselves and insisting on treatment.
Beckett moved past them, nodding as if he listened, moving toward the desk where Dr. Gutterman sat, smiling at them. "So," Beckett said tiredly, "how is everyone this mornin'?"
Ford moved away, letting the doctors talk their medical stuff. He walked along, gazing at the occupants in the beds. Some of the patients slept, others watched him as he moved past. They looked strangely annoyed and defiant. He found what he sought at the back of the room, near the nurse's station. Someone had been thoughtful enough to put their beds near each other – Beckett no doubt.
With a sigh, Ford looked down on his injured teammate. "Hey, Doc," Ford said quietly, taking in the wan complexion, the bruises, the bandages, the IVs, the monitors, the oxygen, the cast that encased his arm. It looked as if McKay had taken one hell of a beating. "Hey, Doc, it's me, Ford… Aiden," he said as he sat in the chair between the beds.
"Not like you to be still," Ford commented, resting his arms on his knees and sitting forward. "Seems like I never see you quiet unless it's something bad." The monitors beeped and McKay didn't stir. "Sorry it took so long to find you. We got there as soon as we could. Good thing you had that flashlight. It's what led us to you. Pretty smart – turning it on. I guess that's what you are, right? Smart." And he ran out of things to say.
Ford turned in the other direction, to Zelenka. He didn't look as bad as McKay, but his chances seemed shakier than McKay's at that moment. "Hi, Dr. Zelenka," he said with forced cheerfulness. "How's it goin'?" and he winced at his stupid remark. How's it going? Hell of a time to ask a question like that! Bet, if he could answer, Zelenka would say he felt like crap… or however you said it in Czech.
What could he do? What could he possibly do? What could he have done to stop this from happening? Could he have saved Joe Moody? Or Merritt? Could he have kept McKay and Zelenka from getting hurt? He should have. It was his responsibility to keep them all safe and alive. God, he screwed up this time. He felt like crap.
At the next bed, one of the scientists, Dr. Stanley, with her head wrapped, was gazing at him with a discontented look. He glanced about, seeing the same unhappy expression reflected elsewhere. He'd become the center of attention. They blame me, he thought. They blame me for all of this.
Miserable, Ford propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands, feeling the guilt settle on him. God, this sucks, he thought, wishing Sheppard was back to take care of things. Why couldn't the Major be here?
CHAPTER 12: LIKE TIM HORTONS
Sheppard awoke slowly. The sun shining in through the tent flaps was warm and inviting. He sat up, stretched, and regarded his compatriots, who were all in the process of awakening as well. For a moment he did nothing, letting his mind shake off the slumber. There was that feeling again… that he really should be home.
It's the cot, he realized. The damn cot. His bed back in Atlantis was a hell of a lot more comfortable. The Ancients knew what they were doing – a good night sleep works wonders for the body. He stretched his back, trying to work out the kinks.
"Mornin'," Sheppard called to Teyla, who winced. "Headache?" he asked.
Instead of speaking, the Athosian nodded curtly and squinted.
Sheppard smiled smugly at that response. "Yeah," he replied. "Me, too."
"I figured that the music would never end," Bates ground out, rubbing his forehead. "You think we're going to go through more of the same today?"
Orin grimaced. "God, I hope not!"
And the four sat on their cots, trying to awaken and to get their minds set for a new day among the Capilanos.
Suddenly, Chilliwack poked his head thought their tent flap and gave them an intense look. "The sun is up," he said.
"Yeah," Sheppard replied. "I can tell."
"We must get started." He pressed his way inside – and strangely enough – instead of flowing Hari Krishna garb, he wore a tailored-looking suit in a pretty pastel peach. He looked at them with an almost disdainful expression. "You do realize that it's Negotiation Day?" he asked, taking in their rumpled civvies. "And we have plenty to discuss today."
"Yeah… yeah…" Sheppard responded.
The once wild-and-free hippy-boy was suddenly the poster child for corporate behavior. "The meeting will commence shortly. There will be pastries and morning tea provided. Please, don't delay." And he turned sharply and left the tent.
The three Earthlings looked at each other in disbelief as Teyla got to her feet and opened her rucksack. "Teyla," Sheppard started. "What the hell?"
The Athosian was busily going through her things, locating the appropriate garb. "When the Capilanos are ready to discuss business, they are able negotiators," she explained. "I believe they enjoy the process. They wish to ensure their trade agreements are always clearly understood so that there is no room for misinterpretation."
"Oh," Sheppard responded.
"We had best hurry as we do not want to disappoint them by arriving late." She looked up, as the men still stared at her. "They are well known for their excellent pastries," she tried to encourage. "They create something that I believe you would call a 'doughnut'. Doctor McKay has mentioned someone named 'Tim Horton' was similar."
"Doughnuts?" Bates muttered. "Doesn't seem like the sort of thing tree-huggers should be making."
Teyla shook her head. "Our early perceptions of people are not the clearest," she explained. "We shall be busy today."
With a nod, Sheppard stood and the others followed and they prepared for negotiations.
CHAPTER 13: THE QUESTIONS EVERYONE ASKS
He felt woozy and strange. Pain niggled at him, almost dulled, but pain just the same. His stomach hurt, his arm, his head, his chest – but there was a detachment to it, as if he were drugged.
Drugged… yes, that's it… drugs… morphine maybe. He didn't doubt the need for it – because he hurt even under the morphine's effects, and he really disliked pain – did everything to avoid it. But, he hated this dizzy disconnected feeling. He hated not being able to think straight, because thinking was all he ever really had. He hated this molasses feeling, dull and dim and dumb. When his brain wasn't obeying him – he was rather worthless.
Besides… morphine was supposed to make you constipated. He hated that, too.
He listened, because that was all he could do at the moment. Near him, a monitor beeped. There was a clatter of instruments, the squeak of something being wheeled about, the shuffling of someone in a bed, the flutter of sheets, and the general groaning and misery of patients. Hospital… he was in hospital… the infirmary… damn. What the hell happened?
He listened, because he was too damn tired and hurt to awaken, listened to get his bearings and to get his head clear, to figure out what was going on before he blurted out something stupid like, 'where am I?' He'd heard that this was the first thing most people said when they woke up in a hospital, and he was determined to be smarter than the average man.
After all, he was a genius – right? And if he couldn't think like one, he'd have nothing left.
He listened because he was scared…he was scared and needed to have a handle on things before he let himself face anyone. He couldn't remember what had happened… he couldn't remember how he'd been hurt. Something… something about a mission… and an underground facility… and the ridiculous notion that the place may have been used to manufacture ZPMs… and he remembered Merritt.
Merritt… the earthquake… and that gut wrenching horror as the ceiling came down. And then he remembered…
"It's just not fair," someone said nearby. Maybe it was Dr. Stanley – the pretty blonde who wore her hair too long and never smiled. "What happened to Alvin… just not fair."
"You know it. Shit, and you didn't even hear to McKay," another voice answered – Burnaby. "Me and Brian were down there just before it all came down. The place was shaking and McKay was ripping Alvin a new one – telling him to get that device out of the wall. Told him he couldn't leave until that thing was out."
"He wasn't even helping," the next voice was Powell. "Me and Dave had been talking to Radek. Zelenka was going on about how McKay was keeping Merritt down there to get out the device. I mean, come on, Alvin had enough sense to get out when that earthquake started. He wouldn't have just stayed in there for nothing! Then, McKay shouted at Zelenka to come back in so that he could make both of them to do his bidding. He didn't care what happened to either of them."
"Wants to hog all the glory," Burnaby stated. "He's such an arrogant son of a bitch. Thinks he's the best at everything, the biggest brain in all of fucking Atlantis. You watch. Soon as we figure out what that damn device does, he'll take all the credit for it."
"It's like him," Stanley added succinctly.
Powell put in, "McKay… if it wasn't for him, Alvin would still be alive, Sgt. Moody, too. And Radek wouldn't be like that…"
Radek? What… what had happened to Zelenka? McKay strained to hear. Near his ear, the monitor's beeping increased. What happened to everyone… why are so many people here? Radek? What's wrong with him?
On the other side of him, an accented female voice called, "Doctor Beckett?"
"It's a fucking shame." Burnaby again. "Alvin was a better man than he'd ever be. Bet McKay wanted him dead because Alvin was showing him up. And now Dr. Zelenka might never wake up. Damn it, Sylvia, at least you and the others didn't get hurt too badly."
Stanley made a disgusted sound. "You're not the one with stitches in your head."
Never wake up? No! Pursing his lips, Rodney tried to focus, to hear them more clearly, to understand.
"Did you hear what Private Deroche said?" Powell asked. "The coward got into the first available hidey-hole. Radek had to go to the one at the far side of the room. Had to carry that device with him."
"Does it surprise you?" Burnaby asked. "That McKay would run and hide, leaving Zelenka to fend for himself? Made Zelenka tote that device that Merritt died over. Shit, all because McKay wanted more glory."
"And now Zelenka's in a coma, we got two people dead, and McKay's gonna get all the credit for finding that device," Powell added. "Big surprise."
"Selfish prick," Stanley commented with her usual brevity.
Coma? Two dead… Oh God no…
Powell laughed, and said, "Good thing for McKay that the Major hasn't come back. This would probably be the last straw for him."
"Yeah," Burnaby responded. "Just goes to show how Sheppard feels. I mean, the Major didn't even bother coming back from that meeting. Bet you're right. This will be his 'just cause' for finally booting McKay off his team."
Powell snorted. "Probably has been wanting to do it since the beginning."
"What's all this then?" a burr sounded, coming toward them. "Brian, David… you recall that I'd asked you to let Sylvia rest."
"Figured she was lonely," Burnaby replied with a snip in his voice. "Didn't want her to be alone here."
"Yeah," Powell added. "Sucks to be stuck in here."
"Hmmm," Beckett responded. "Sucks, does it? Well, run along then. You may leave the sucking zone. She needs her rest. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
Rodney heard the clip of Beckett's shoes coming closer. "Maria?" Carson called.
The Hispanic nurse responded, "Dr. McKay's vitals have changed. I believe he's coming around again."
"Excellent." Then came an insistent calling, "Rodney? Rodney? Rodney, can you hear me?" He heard Carson move about, messing with something near the bed. "Come on, Rodney, I know you're wakin'. Kin you open your eyes a bit? Rodney? Just for a moment and I'll let you be. I'm not goin' 'til you do." There was a pause, and he felt the warmth of a hand grip his. "I mean it, Rodney. No rest for you until you…Ah! There you are!"
It had taken some strength to crack open his eyes… but no will power. If he'd had any will power, he would have continued playing possum.
"Rodney, you're all right," Beckett told him. He'd released McKay's hand and Rodney missed the warmth. "You're back in Atlantis and you're gonna be fine." The Scot's worried eyes met his. "You've been in surgery, Rodney, to repair some bleeding. That all went well, but you're gonna feel awful weak for a while. You've broken some ribs, fractured your left arm – it's in a cast, you see? So try to keep that still. And you suffered a bit of a concussion… In other words, you're a mess." The doctor smiled lightly. "You're gonna be in some pain. I've cut back on the meds a bit so you'd wake. You need to let me know when it gets too bad."
Rodney wanted to ask about Zelenka – but he already knew about the Czech's grave condition. He wanted to ask about Merritt – but Merritt was dead and gone. He wanted to ask about that soldier in the tunnel, Moody, but that was pointless as well. What about the other scientists? He'd already heard that they were going to be all right. Besides, it was too much of a cliché to wake up and instantly ask about the welfare of others – and he didn't want to do anything 'ordinary'. He already knew the answers and he didn't really want to hear them.
He wanted to ask if morphine really caused constipation, but he figured he'd take his chances.
His questions had mostly been answered, so he said, "Could I have some water…?" and was surprised at how rough his voice sounded.
With a sympathetic expression, Beckett explained that there'd be only ice chips for now.
He sucked in a breath, feeling the hurt of his chest and he coughed – regretting it – regretting it a lot as the cough continued.
"Hang on, hang on," Beckett said. "Just ride through it, Rodney. Better?" he asked as the coughing slowed. "Better?" he asked again.
"Loads," Rodney responded, still gasping for air. "Feel like crap."
"Aye," Beckett replied. "I thought as much."
"How long?" McKay asked, feeling stupid – because wasn't that another of those questions everyone asks? "How long have I… been here?"
"It's been about a day," Beckett responded. "You've been in and out a bit since surgery." He smiled tightly, but couldn't hide the worry that still lit his eyes. "It's good to see you awake and talking, Rodney."
A day…we've been here a day… Radek has been unconscious for a day. McKay grimaced with that realization – oh, that can't be good… not good at all. God, I'm sorry, Radek… I'm so damn sorry.
Seeing McKay's expression change, Beckett called his name, but he was slipping away, thinking about how sorry he was… how wrong he'd been. He'd gotten Merritt killed – Moody and Merritt -- his own selfishness had killed two people – had doomed Zelenka. Why hadn't he let them go when they had the chance? What had he been thinking?
Why had he risked their lives to retrieve a device? He couldn't even remember it. What had been so important about it? Why had he traded Merritt and Zelenka and Moody for it?
What have I done? I'm sorry… I'm so damn sorry.
"Rodney?" Beckett called, but he wouldn't open his eyes again. He felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder. "Okay then," Beckett stated. "Get some more rest, Rodney." The pressure remained for a minute.
Beckett watched the monitors, unsure if the physicist was asleep or merely resting. "It's okay," he stated again, just in case Rodney was still listening. With a sigh, he turned to Zelenka, and checked his monitors, and asked Maria, "Any changes with Radek?" he asked.
The Mexican nurse shook her head with a woeful, "It's almost as if he's in a sort of purgatory, stuck and waiting."
Beckett grimaced at the comparison. "Don't mention purgatory to me. I plan to keep him from it." He grasped Radek's hand a moment, called his name as he'd done several times already, but the monitors remained constant – telling him that the man still lived but wouldn't wake. Purgatory… perhaps that was closer to truth than he cared to mention. With a slow exhale, Carson turned and moved away, heading back the way he came.
"Move along now," Beckett stated as he passed Burnaby and Powell, both still posed around Dr. Stanley's bed.
"Yeah, yeah," Powell responded. "One more minute."
Tiredly, Beckett held up a finger. "One minute then!" and he bustled away, too busy with all his patients to be put upon by discontented and well scientists.
Once the doctor moved off, Burnaby asked, "Did you hear that?"
"What?" Powell responded.
"That ass-hole, McKay, didn't even ask about Dr. Zelenka. Didn't ask about Dr. Merritt or that poor bastard, Moody. It wouldn't even cross his mind to think about Sylvia," Burnaby said, gesturing to the scientist who sported a head wrapping. "Didn't ask about any of us. He didn't give a shit about anyone but himself."
"Always knew that," Dr. Stanley responded, and ran one hand along her bandage-restricted hair.
"How the hell did he get to be head of this department, anyway?" Powell asked.
In his own bed, McKay felt himself sink deeper into the
abyss, thinking, what have I done?
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TBC
- Oh dear.. sounds like trouble.
