(Wow, guys, I'm speechless. Thank you!)

FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: NAME THAT DOCTOR

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Drugged, meaning he was feeling very warm and a little bit fuzzy, a smiling John Sheppard was participating in his favorite game when he was in the infirmary: "Name that doctor."

Only difference here was, he wasn't in the infirmary, he was in the med bay on the Daedalus. Still, location didn't matter when the tall, dark-skinned doctor was here, apparently sent along with Doctor Biro to boost the ship's medical team while Beckett went home on the jumper with Rodney. It actually seemed a little odd that Beckett wasn't here—he'd sort of gotten used to the Scot being on the Daedalus with the cavalry, but he knew Beckett was busy and Biro and the other guy were doing just fine. Right now, the "insert name here" doctor was hovering over Teyla, checking down her back and sides for damage from the throw she had received from the meener. Sheppard watched, listened, just waiting for the slip that would tell him the man's name….

Because, by now, he was almost certain that they were doing it on purpose. After all, it had been almost a year now, and not one person had used the doctor's name in his presence…and Sheppard was dead set on figuring this out without help. They thought they had him, did they? Well, he'd show them! Someone, at some point, was going to drop the ball, and when they did….

The black doctor didn't look happy at what he was finding, muttering softly to himself as he poked and prodded the Athosian.

Teyla didn't look too happy herself with the whole thing, wincing at almost every place he pressed and the doctor asked, "does it hurt here?"

"I think," she said testily after about the fifth affirmative answer to that question, "that you can safely assume that I hurt just about everywhere, doctor."

An impish grin that Teyla couldn't see because he was behind her crossed the doctor's face, before he sighed and leaned forward back into her line of sight (she was feeling adverse to turning her neck too much, it seemed—not surprising). Resuming his serious expression, the doctor crossed his arms and shook his head.

"You're going to need rest and some physical therapy, I'm afraid," he informed her, "before you're back in fighting shape. You bruised your ribs, pulled several muscles, and you'll be carrying bruises for a while. You're very lucky, you know. First, that you're in very good shape and know how to react when falling, and, two, that you didn't land on anything hard."

She sighed, nodded, then winced a little, lifting a hand to the back of her neck.

"Look," he smiled softly, "I'll give you something right now, then we'll get you more settled once we're home," he looked at the watch on his wrist, "which should be in about twenty minutes."

She offered him a forced smile, then let him help her lean back on the bed, her eyes closing almost before her head hit the pillow.

The doctor clicked his tongue and sighed again, backing away from the now dozing Teyla.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth, Travis and Ronon were dead to the world on their own cots, sleeping away the short ride home. Doctor Biro was keeping close tabs on Ronon, disliking all the abuse the man had taken, especially to his head. He'd heard the doctor mention something to the…other…doctor that it was a good thing Ronon had such a hard head. For some reason, all Sheppard could think of in response to that remark was, "takes a lickin', keeps on tickin'!"

Had to be the drugs.

His smile grew more crooked as the "thou-shalt-remain-nameless" doctor approached his side of the somewhat crampt room to check on him. The man was already scribbling down numbers in his book based on the monitors around Sheppard's bed as he walked. Strangely, Sheppard found the steadiness of all the beeping monitors in the room almost soothing. Probably because of exactly that—they were steady. No emergencies, no raised voices, no high pitched whines, just soft, steady, constant metronome like sounds….

Again, good drugs.

"I'm surprised you're still awake," the doctor said as he got right up next to the colonel's bed, checking Sheppard's IV and marking something more on his pad.

"Just enjoying the calm," the colonel replied drowsily.

"I can imagine." The doctor peered critically at the bandage on Sheppard's left shoulder, where they'd removed the bullet. "How's the shoulder?"

"Oh, fine. Can't feel it." Sheppard looked distractedly down at the arm strapped to his chest, then back up again, blinking slowly. "So, just out of curiosity, you, uh," Sheppard's eyes narrowed a little, "You wouldn't happen to know how Rodney is doing, exactly?"

"Ah, no," the doctor reached over to check another of Sheppard's IV lines, "not really. I do know Beckett was worried about him."

Sheppard grimaced a little, puzzled by that. "But Caldwell said McKay…that he was going to be okay? Almost like, Rodney was fine..." At least, that was the impression I'd gotten, he thought to himself.

The doctor shrugged, "I'm not sure. All I heard was that Beckett wanted to get him home as soon as possible."

Sheppard frowned more. "So, that means—"

"Look, I don't know, Colonel," the doctor game him a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry."

"Oh," Sheppard found the happy glow he'd been feeling was fading fast. It made him think more about things he did not know the answers to—like how Rodney pulled off getting a message through to Atlantis. He blinked a little, then looked up again. The doctor was adding something to his drip. He watched for a second, then licked his lips to speak again.

"What did…do you…do you know…." Sheppard was having a hard time formulating the question he wanted to ask. "Do you know exactly how Rodney got a message through?"

"No," the doctor shook his head, and his head lifted, to look over at someone else on the other side of Sheppard's bed. "But Colonel Caldwell might."

Sheppard immediately turned his head towards the door, where Caldwell was striding into the med bay. The lieutenant colonel thought about giving the commander a salute, but ended up just giving him a sloppy grin instead. Caldwell didn't seem to mind, as the edges of his lips lifted ever so slightly.

"I heard you were still awake, Colonel," Caldwell said, slipping in next to the bed and standing at a sort of parade rest. "So I came down to see if I could get a fuller story from you as to what happened. After all, at this point, all I know is that you went from negotiating a trade agreement to almost being hanged," both eyebrows lifted, "all within less than seventy two hours…."

"Ah, well," Sheppard lifted his right hand, waving it about slightly; it seemed to blur a little in his eyesight, "turns out the Governor of Garillion isn't the head honcho on that planet, Colonel, some King is. The King took exception to the Governor buying arms and planning a coup d'etat, so the King took measures. Attacked while we were there, to teach us a lesson as well about arms dealing. In the melee, I got away with McKay, but the others were captured. I later returned to rescue the others. We escaped but, eh, we got caught again. Then you showed up." He smiled again at Caldwell, "Thanks for that."

Caldwell just inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Well, that was...pithy, Colonel. But it doesn't explain," his eyebrows lifted again, "why exactly I had Hermiod beam a motorcycle into my hanger bay?"

Sheppard instantly grinned wolfishly, remembering his prize. "Speedwheel," he corrected. "And it's mine." He tapped his chest in emphasis, and his eyes drifted up, drawn to the shininess of his superior officer's head. When Caldwell had nodded at him just now, it had shimmered.

Caldwell just arched an eyebrow at Sheppard's response. "Yours?"

"I bought it!" the colonel explained proudly, somehow bringing his eyes back down again.

"With what?"

"Ah," Sheppard opened his mouth to answer, then, some still rational part of him started screaming at him, shut up, you idiot! shut up now! Don't tell him! For God's SAKE! His eyes crossed a little in response, then looked back at Caldwell. "Bought it? Did I say bought it?" he slurred, eyes once more involuntarily looking up. Damn, that head was shiny. "I meant I won it. Cards. Playing cards...with Connam. Poker."

"Oh, I see," Caldwell's eyes narrowed, clearly dubious, and he moved his head a little, obviously a little disconcerted by the way Sheppard kept staring at his forehead. "Actually, that brings me to my next question. Exactly how did the trader get involved?"

"Good old Connam!" Sheppard grinned again. "His first name's Eric, you know that? Isn't that odd? Like Eric the Red, who founded Greenland…though he looks more like Colonel Custer to me…." Sheppard leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. For a moment, he didn't speak, then, slowly, he frowned. His moods were really rocking back and forth, and when he spoke again, his entire tone had changed, becoming deadly serious. "You know, that's a good question, Colonel. How did you, uh, get that message again? That we needed help?"

"Well, your good old Connam brought a note through the gate to the Alpha Site. He met Sergeant Stackhouse there, and Stackhouse brought it through to Atlantis."

"And," Sheppard blinked, trying hard to stay focused, "McKay wrote it?"

"Oh, without question. He wrote it in French, for one thing. It said that Garillion had been attacked, you and the others were on the run and probably needed rescuing, that Ronon was hurt, and to send a jumper and the Daedalus to the planet 'tout de suite.'"

Sheppard stared at him a moment, then leaned back again, eyes focusing on the wall opposite him on the other side of the room.

"So, you were right," he said thoughtfully, "We really do have McKay to thank…."

"So it would seem. Though, to be fair, Colonel, we were nearly too late. Had we gotten that message earlier, it might have helped. I assume, however, that there was a reason for the delay in getting it to us?" Caldwell sounded a little miffed.

Sheppard continued to stare over at the wall. All feeling of warmth had left him completely now, as a strange sort of chill descended as he considered the colonel's words.

"Yes," he agreed finally, "it probably would have made things easier. And yes, there was a reason for the delay." But not a good one, he added silently to himself.

Caldwell tilted his head, then looked down. When he looked up again, Sheppard had his eyes closed.

The commander of the Daedalus gave a small smile, and patted the other man's good shoulder.

"Rest, Colonel Sheppard. We'll be home soon."

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TBC...