The Long Trip Home - Chapter 8
They had been waiting for hours, although it seemed like days. They were spread out in various positions sitting and laying across the chairs in the waiting area. McKay had finally dozed off and no one wanted to chance making a stray noise that could awaken the exhausted scientist. The room was strangely silent.
They had seen medical personnel going in and out of the area near the back of the room that led to surgery. Each time, they watched carefully to see if someone would come their way and give them a bit of news. No one ever came. No one would even look at them. In turn, they wondered if they were being avoided because of something the staff knew or simply because they didn't know anything.
When Beckett shuffled tiredly through the door leading to surgery and headed toward the crowd of waiting friends, they immediately came to life. Ford nudged McKay, letting him know to wake up. Beckett had removed his mask, but was still wearing bloody surgical scrubs. For a second, Elizabeth couldn't take her eyes off the blood. She just kept staring at it and thinking, that's his blood. Beckett ran his hand absently through his hair, looking for a place to begin. They waited silently, unable to read his expression.
"Don't ask me why or how, but he's still with us. We almost lost him twice, but, thankfully, I have the best medical team in this galaxy - or any other galaxy for that matter. He's very weak and he's a long way from being out of the woods. We've given him several units of blood and he still needs more. We're pumping it into him as fast as we can. It looks like it started out a slow bleed, but then escalated as time wore on. By the time we finish, we'll probably have replaced almost his whole blood supply. The other main problem was the blood that accumulated in the sac around his lungs. I've put in a chest tube to drain the blood and other fluids that may accumulate because of the serious bruising around his lungs. He'll probably be on a ventilator for a while. He's just too weak and too bruised to breathe on his own." Beckett paused and looked up, shifting his head first to one side and then to the other in an attempt to relieve the aching stiffness he felt. He was dead on his feet. "Minor injuries include the gunshot wound, a bump to the head, and he may have a very slight crack in his right hip. Mostly, he's just battered and bruised. He'll be very sore for a while."
Weir breathed an audible sigh of relief. "So he's going to be okay, right?"
Beckett looked directly at her. "I didn't say that Elizabeth. He's holding his own for now, but he's very weak and we're having trouble getting him stabilized. On top of that, the injury to his arm is infected and he's running a fever. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be critical. If he can make it past that, he may have a fighting chance. I want to be perfectly honest here. He has a small chance, but there are very definitely no guarantees."
They all stood in silence, torn between relief that the major was still alive and dread at the rather poor prognosis. Elizabeth's face looked ashen as she began to slowly sway back and forth. Beckett gently reached out and steadied her. "Are you all right, lass?" he asked softly, seeing the fear in her eyes.
She opened her mouth to answer, but quickly closed it, realizing she had too big a lump in her throat to produce words. She silently nodded as she swallowed hard. "Can we see him?"
Beckett sighed deeply. He had been afraid one of them would ask that. "I'd really rather wait until tomorrow. It's late and all of you need to get some rest, especially you Rodney." They just kept looking at him expectantly, no one making a move to leave. After a few seconds he said, "Well, maybe just a small peek. Give me a minute." He turned and walked away.
Beckett was back in a few minutes. "You can see him for a minue and I do mean ONE minute. In and out. I have to warn you that he's pretty battered and he's still on the respirator. It's not going to be pretty." With that, he led them down the hall.
When they entered the room, they were immediately met by the sounds of the heart monitor and the ventilator. A nurse stood beside his bed, adjusting the many tubes that seemed to weave around the major. They could see heavy bandaging around his mid section, just above the blanket that covered him from the waist down. The leads to the heart monitor were attached to his chest, just above the bandages. A blood-filled tube emerged from the bandages along his side and disappeared under the bed. A small piece of tape secured the tube emerging from his throat to the side of his mouth. It was attached to the rhythmically pulsating ventilator next to the bed, a thin line keeping the major alive. IV and transfusion lines led to his arms. His face was so pale, they wondered if Beckett had made a mistake about him still being alive. But then there was the somewhat comforting beep of the heart monitor. They thought they understood for the first time how fragile the line between life and death was for the major.
"Okay, you've seen him with yer own eyes. I want everyone out of here and off to bed. You can check back with me tomorrow. And Rodney...you better get several hours of sleep before you even think of coming back." With that, he escorted them out the door.
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Rodney awoke screaming, his body covered in a cold sweat, the sounds of gunshots echoing inside his head. He was panting so hard, it took him a minute to catch his breath. When he finally did, he let himself fall backward into the bed. He was still tired, but he didn't feel so completely exhausted any more. His mind was still a little foggy, so it took a second before he jerked himself out of bed. Sheppard.
McKay raced into the infirmary, his eyes searching for Beckett. He'd almost had a stroke when he realized it was early afternoon and no one had awakened him. He finally saw Beckett coming across the room.
"Carson!" he called as he hurried over to him. "How's Sheppard?"
"He's holdin' his own." repled Beckett. "Elizabeth somehow managed to talk me into lettin' her sit with him a minute. She's back there now if you want to join her. I'll need to run the both of you out shortly."
Without comment, McKay nodded and moved toward the room that held Sheppard. He walked in slowly, his fingers crossed that the major would look stronger today. He was somewhat disappointed when he saw that things looked pretty much like they did when he left. He kept telling himself that at least Sheppard was still alive.
Elizabeth was sitting beside the bed, the major's hand held protectively in hers. She was so focused on Sheppard that she wasn't aware of McKay until he placed his hand gently on her shoulder. She jumped at his touch, turning swiftly to face him.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. How's he doing?"
She turned back to Sheppard, "No change." In some ways, she wanted to say so much more and in others she didn't want to say anything at all. She was just starting to realize how much he had captured her heart. She had no idea what she would do if he died. But then, she had no idea what she would do if he lived.
Over the next few days, Sheppard continued to get stronger. There was a steady stream of people in and out of the infirmary checking on the major's condition. Weir and McKay spent more and more time sitting with Sheppard, waiting on him to wake up. Beckett gave up trying to enforce visiting hours with them. He did insist that they leave periodically to eat and get some sleep.
Four days after the jumper arrived back at Atlantis with its battered cargo, Weir was once again sitting in Sheppard's room. She had taken to talking to him when McKay wasn't around. Dr. Beckett had told them it might not hurt to talk to the major. Even though he might not be conscious, some thought that the unconscious mind might register the presence of family and friends, helping the healing process. Elizabeth wanted to help in any way that she could. She also found it comforting to talk to John. She had missed their conversations on the balcony.
She paced nervously back and forth. "I'm not sure what to do. I think I love you John Sheppard...God help me. It took almost losing you to make me realize just how important you have become to me. I'm telling you this now because I know I won't get to tell you later. I won't risk this expedition because of my feelings. It's too important. It's going to be hard to see you and talk to you every day, knowing I can never have you." The corners of her mouth turned up just a little as if she meant to smile. "But it's far better than losing you." She walked over to the bed and bent over Sheppard, kissing him softly on the cheek, tears falling from her cheek to his. She lingered a few seconds, her face next to his, listening to the now familiar sounds of the respirator and the heart monitor. She lifted her face a few inches and looked into his face. His eyes were open.