Happenstance

Chapter 2: A Wing and a Prayer

After dragging Colonel Sheppard into the puddle jumper, I managed to ease him down along one of the side benches in the rear compartment. Digging out the medical kit from the overhead storage bin, I pulled out the portable oxygen tank and mask along with fresh bandages, more painkillers, and an emergency blanket. Placing the mask over his mouth and nose, I adjusted the air valve on the tank until the hiss in the tubing assured me the oxygen was flowing. Satisfied that a measure of color was returning to the injured man's face, I turned my attention to starting an IV. As I jabbed the needle into his arm, I was rewarded with only a mild flinch against the pinprick instead of the normal Sheppard protests I would have expected. Definitely a sign that much was amiss with the colonel. He lay there only half aware of his surroundings, intermittent, soft moans the only indication he was still semi-lucid. I tucked the blanket around him to keep him warm and ward off shock as I finished settling him in for the long flight home.

Rising up, I rushed to the front of the jumper and took a seat in the pilot's chair. Normally, I jumped at every opportunity I got to hone my piloting skills. But now, I worried that my fledging mastery of the craft left much to be desired when it came to flying in the face of such a grave emergency. Hoping my talents were up to the task, I eased back on the controls and got us quickly under way. Although the jumper did not respond to my touch as deftly as it did with John's, the ship soared up into the sky without hesitation, pulling away from the planet with a thrust of its powerful engines.

Weak as he was, Sheppard somehow found enough energy to still be a back seat driver and criticize my less than stellar take-off. He had to have temporarily removed the oxygen mask for his feeble voice to be heard over the whine of the naquadah turbines.

"Jesus, McKay. Remind me to revoke your learner's permit."

Okay, I might have skimmed the tops of some trees in my haste to leave this wretched world. But please. What harm could a few spindly branches do against Ancient, space-worthy alloys? The damage would be infinitesimal, I assure you. I am, after all, the resident expert on Ancient technology among countless other things. What are a few dents and scratches when a friend's life was on the line? If getting Sheppard back to Atlantis as soon as humanly possible meant I would be returning his jumper a little worse for wear, then so be it. I was willing to deal with the consequences. I would listen to him bitch about the damage I caused to his flying 'baby' later when we were back safe and sound. In fact, I was counting on it. Damn pigheaded pilots and their ridiculous attachment to mere machines. If they were computers, I could understand it. But planes? Give me a break.

"Ah, sorry, Colonel. Just a little unexpected crosswind. Nothing to worry about." I called gamely back to him as I concentrated on coaxing more velocity out of the rapidly accelerating spaceship. Surely the Ancients had foreseen the need for speed and designed these things to go a little faster.

"Crosswind my ass." He softly muttered before falling quiet.

I would have been more concerned by his silence, but the raspy sounds of his breathing filtered up to the cockpit, assuring me he was still alive, just not exactly kicking at the moment. I glanced over my shoulder, nevertheless, to check that he was holding his own as best as he was able under these conditions. I noticed at least before he drifted off again, he had had the presence of mind to reposition the mask over his face. It was a small thing to be thankful for, but I was willing to take anything I could get for the time being. Anything. Just anything at all I could grab onto to convince myself that my best friend would get through this would do for now.

A soon as I had cleared the planet's atmosphere and had plotted a course for home, I patched in a comm link to our fair city to notify Carson to be ready for a medical emergency.

"Atlantis. Come in. This is Jumper One. How do you read me?" I must say I really was getting the hang of this space pilot parlance.

"Jumper One. This is Atlantis. We read you loud and clear. What is your status?" Elizabeth's familiar voice came through the console speakers, filling the cockpit with a welcome sound.

"Oh, Elizabeth. Thank God you can hear me. This is Rodney. We have a medical emergency."

Elizabeth was not completely able to disguise the apprehension in her voice as she answered. "We copy that Jumper One. What is the nature of the emergency?"

"Sheppard's been shot. We are on route to Atlantis now. ETA in roughly three hours. Have Carson standing by!" I answered her as succinctly as I could.

"Shot? I thought M5J-346 was uninhabited. What happened? How badly is he injured?" She asked in a slightly shocked tone. I could picture her brow furrowed with worry. Our team came back far too often with injuries which probably caused her many a sleepless night.

I wanted to reply that "I" had happened. I had neglected to double check preliminary reports that the planet was not populated. I had insisted we didn't need military backup on this mission. I had been too slow to move, and it was my clumsiness that forced Sheppard to take the only action instinctive to his nature and put himself in the path of the bullet. Yes, I had most definitely been the cause of this sorry mess. But I said none of those things when I answered. There would be plenty of time for the full story later when I submitted my mission report in the routine debriefing. Plenty of time for blame and guilt to be dissected and analyzed. I kept to the bare facts for now instead.

"How do I know? I'm a PhD, not a medical doctor! I don't practice voodoo. It's bad, okay? It's bad. He's bleeding, unconscious, and in a lot of pain. That's all I know. We ran into an unexpected difficulty with the local welcoming committee. Turns out the planet was not as deserted as we thought, and they didn't like visitors. The rest will be in my report later." I didn't mean to vent just then, but my fear and frustration came spewing out unbidden as I spoke.

"Okay, Rodney. Just calm down. Panicking won't help the situation. I have Carson and his medical team on alert and waiting for your arrival in the jumper bay." Her voice held only a trace of the underlying tension I was sure she felt.

Leave it to Dr. Elizabeth Weir to remain the calm in any storm. What else should I expect? The woman regularly chewed up presidents, dictators, and longhaired chemists, spit them back out, then had by-the-book, stick-up-their-ass generals as a side dish. It was her job to remain cool and collected when dealing with any contingency, and she did it well. She always held it together. At least in front of her staff.

"Sorry. You know how I react in a crisis. I tend to run off at the mouth. I am..um..just worried about Sheppard."

"I know, Rodney. We all are. I'm going to put Dr. Beckett on the line so you can get him up to speed on the colonel's condition." There was a pause as she transferred the call over to Carson's headset.

"Rodney, it's Beckett. Can you tell me a wee bit more about Colonel Sheppard's injury? Where is the location of the gunshot wound to begin with, laddie?" His brisk brogue was thick with concern.

"He was shot in the left side midway down his ribcage. I have a pressure bandage on the wound, but he's lost a lot of blood. I started an IV and administered one dose of morphine earlier. He's been conscious on and off. Right now, he's unconscious from what I can see from the pilot's seat. I also have him on oxygen, and he's covered with a blanket." I kept thinking it wasn't enough as I described to Carson what first aid steps I had taken so far. Not nearly enough.

"Aye, that's a right job you've done so far. Can you be telling me how his breathing is, son?"

"Ah, his breathing has been very labored and raspy. It probably didn't help that one of the local gunmen also kicked him in the ribs. Just before we made it back to the jumper, he was struggling to catch his breath to the point his lips were blue. The oxygen seems to have helped in that respect. Not much, but somewhat". I answered him back as best I could.

"Did you just say he was also kicked? Was it in the same area as the initial injury?" I could hear the anger in his tone at the brutality meted out upon Sheppard.

"Yes, yes. Of course it was, Carson. Did you think that psychopath stopped to ask where the colonel was shot so as to avoid further damage to that area? He got in several hard blows before I could distract him from putting the finishing touches on what his shooting buddy started." I shouted over the radio as the memory of the second attack on Sheppard caused my anger to return.

"Aye, and I'm willing to guess he managed to break a few ribs at that. Rodney, can you get me a blood pressure reading and give me the colonel's current pulse rate?" The Scotsman asked intent on getting as much medical data as he could over the radio.

"Hold on a minute." I put the jumper on autopilot so I could head back to the rear and check on Sheppard for the doctor. He was still unconscious and very pale. His pallid face was still covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The oxygen mask was becoming slightly fogged by his shallow breaths.

After taking the readings, I relayed the vital signs to Carson who did not appear happy at what he heard. Not that I was surprised. I'm no medical doctor and even I could ascertain that Sheppard's pressure was too low and his pulse too weak and thready to be a good sign. God knows how much he was still bleeding internally, and there was nothing I could do for about that for him. Absolutely nothing. Right about now, I almost wished my doctorate were a medical degree instead. I would give anything to know even a little of Beckett's shamanistic magic. I would gladly shake a few rattles, sacrifice a few chickens, and light the sacred ring of fire if it meant it would heal Sheppard. I have never been a religious man, but at the moment, I was even willing to pray to any deities or patron saints that might happen to protect Air Force fighter pilots with overblown hero complexes. My degrees in astrophysics just wouldn't be of any help here. Being a genius mattered not one iota. Not this time. All the brainpower in the world wouldn't amount to a hill of the finest Columbian coffee beans. Only a timely arrival, proper medical care, and a healthy amount of luck would help the colonel in this circumstance.

"Okay, laddie. You've done all you can for the moment. How long will it be until you get here?" Carson asked. I was willing to bet he was already counting the passing minutes.

"Roughly three hours. We are not near a stargate and have to fly the entire way back." Like I needed to be reminded how far we still had to travel.

I heard the doctor's heavy sigh over the radio as he replied. "Aye, not much we can do for that. But, Rodney, I would suggest flying that jumper of yours at maximum speed. I don't think I have to tell you that with an injury like Colonel Sheppard's, time is of the essence."

"You don't have to remind me, Carson. I am running these engines at maximum capacity as it is."

"I know you're doing your best, son. Keep me posted. I'll have my team standing by."

"Good, Carson. That is good to hear. I'll see you when I get there."

After Beckett keyed off his headset mike, Elizabeth came back on the line. "Rodney, we will keep this frequency open so you can keep us informed of any updates on the colonel's condition. Hang in there. We'll get you both home."

"Right. I'll call you if I need anything or if something changes. Jumper One out." I hit my headset to cut the transmission and went back to concentrating on flying us to Atlantis.

I knew both Carson and Elizabeth would be fraught with worry as they always were whenever a mission went awry. As usual, Sheppard was the cause of their worry. The man was a magnet for trouble and the reason so many of us on this expedition were plagued by premature gray hairs and worry lines. If the colonel continued to use up the nine lives allotted him at the rate he currently did, we all would end up looking like refugees from the Retirement Home for Wayward Intergalactic Explorers.

We were about two hours into our flight time when I heard muted groaning coming from the rear compartment as the colonel once again regained consciousness. I turned my head to look back where he lay and saw him begin to stir listlessly. Shoving the controls back to autopilot mode, I tore out of my seat, and hustled to the aft compartment of the jumper. Sheppard was rolling his head from side to side and beginning to thrash deliriously. Leaning over his restless form, I attempted to calm him down before he exacerbated his existing injuries.

He batted weakly at the oxygen mask, trying to move it out of the way so that he could speak. Pushing his hand away, I pulled the mask aside and noticed as I did his face was flushed with the beginnings of a fever. Great! A full-blown infection was all he needed on top of the blood loss and who knows what internal damage caused by the bullet. The day was just getting better and better. I swear Murphy was throwing his whole godforsaken book of laws at us. What else could go wrong? Did I even dare flip the bird at fate? Tell kismet to kiss my ass? Rage against the machine? What more did I have to deal with before I was done? I was not ready to let Sheppard go gently into the good night. No way. No how.

As soon as he was free of the mask, he whispered through chattering teeth, unable to stop his body from shivering. All of his muscles seemed to tremble even as he lay in rest along the length of the bench.

"So cold...I'm cold, McKay...it's freezing in here. I can't get warm. Think you can turn the heat up a bit?"

"I'll see what I can do, Colonel." Grabbing another blanket from the overhead storage compartment, I lay it on top of the blanket already covering him.

Tapping my headset, I patched in a call to Beckett. Not in the least surprised that the wily Scotsman answered almost immediately, I updated him on Sheppard's worsening condition.

"Aye, laddie. I don't like the sound of that. The colonel is probably going into shock from blood loss, and it sounds like an infection may be starting in the wound. I'll be wanting you to start a second IV and keep him as warm as possible. You won't be able to do much else until we can get him into surgery to stop the bleeding and administer a broad-spectrum antibiotic." Carson instructed after I gave him a new set of vitals.

"I already covered him with another blanket. I'll get the second IV started in his other arm." I replied as I grabbed the needed supplies from the medical kit. The colonel didn't even flinch this time when I poked his arm with the needle. Either he was too out of it to notice, or he was too weak to even care.

"Good, Rodney. Let me know if anything changes. I will see you when you arrive." Beckett said just before I acknowledged his reply and keyed my mike off.

I looked back down at Sheppard. His eyes had a glazed, unfocused look, making me wonder how much he was aware of his surroundings. I didn't have to be the resident genius to know he wasn't doing well. Hell, any moron would have been able to see that. I changed the blood-soaked bandage on his side, trying not to wince at the sight of the wound. Like I had told Sheppard earlier, I did not deal well with the spillage of copious amounts of blood, and did not want to pass out from the sight. Not that I would admit to the cause if I did. Not on your life. I would blame it on a hypoglycemic reaction before I would give the colonel the satisfaction of having yet one more thing to tease me about. I still have not lived down the incident with that energy-sucking, shadow creature close to a year ago. Sheppard has a very long memory. Surprising I know for a military goon, but there you have it. There were a lot of unexpected things about the colonel as I have discovered since coming to Atlantis. Least of all was that an action-figure, career Air Force soldier would choose to be my friend. But I have found since arriving in the Pegasus Galaxy, life can be full of surprises. Some of them good and some of them bad.

Grabbing his hand, I tried to offer him encouragement. "Hang in there, Colonel. We're almost home."

His eyes fluttered briefly as he murmured a faint reply. "Not going anywhere, McKay. Hope your landing's better than your take-off."

See what I mean? The man has a long memory. I answered him with a smug grin. "Oh, that's very funny, Colonel. Don't give up your day job just yet to do stand-up. Unless of course, you plan on using your comedic wit as a tactic against the Wraith. Slaying them with bad humor. Yes, that might just work. But have no fear, my landing will be smooth as glass."

I wasn't sure if he heard my answer, because he had slipped back into unconsciousness. After checking the drip on his IV's, I got up and returned to the cockpit. I still had an hour's worth of flying to do to get us home. I sat back down, gripping the controls tightly with frustration, and tried to fly straight and true along the course plotted by the navigation computer as I settled myself in for the remainder of the journey. The next hour managed to pass uneventfully as I monitored various sensor controls and periodically took a look back at Sheppard. He remained out for the count and unaware of the passage of time as we sped back home. Finally, the jumper was on approach to our familiar ocean-bound planet.

I never saw as welcome a sight as the tall spires of Atlantis jutting up from the surrounding ocean into the sunset lit sky. It had only been a three hour trip, but I felt as if it had taken years off my life. I couldn't help the audible sigh of relief as I made the final approach to the landing bay and steered the craft downward through the roof into the open jumper bay doors. The puddle jumper touched down, and I opened the hatch to a flurry of activity as Carson's medical team rushed in through the rear of the jumper to aid my wounded colleague.

I barely had a chance to get out of their way, before they had deposited Sheppard onto a waiting gurney and were hooking him up to various monitors and equipment. As I hurried down the ramp, I was met by Elizabeth who watched in shocked silence as the trauma team rushed the colonel off to the infirmary.

"Rodney! Is he still...?" She broke off as her voice failed her.

"Yes, for now. I hope we got him to Carson in time." I answered, not wanting to talk about what happened. Not yet. I only wanted to get down to the infirmary to keep an eye on my friend.

"What happened down there? Are you all right? Elizabeth asked as she touched my arm, forcing me to stop walking.

"I'm fine. Just fine. Look, I will tell you all about it later. Let's just get to the medical bay. I should have been there two minutes ago." I brushed off her questions and continued striding down the hall.

She fell in step along side me, silent once again, her face a stoic mask that hid her concern. We made it to the infirmary in record time, arriving somewhat breathless from the fast pace we set. We watched from the sidelines as Beckett ordered scans and various medications as they prepped Sheppard for surgery. Momentarily leaving his staff with the task of stabilizing the critically injured man, Carson approached us to quickly update us on his status. No sooner had Beckett turned away and was about to speak when the abrupt whine of the heart monitor interrupted him. The activity around the gurney suddenly increased tenfold as one of the medical technicians called out frantically.

"Doctor Beckett! He's crashing!"

(TBC)