Part III

He managed to eat the soup and toast, not only keeping it down, but asking for seconds. Beckett had eyed him incredulously, but okayed the request, and John proceeded to tuck away another bowl with ease.

"See, I'm good," said John. "Can I go? And, what time is it, anyway?"

Beckett seemed startled by his patient's rapid turn around, but he considered Sheppard, before grudgingly replying, "If you keep the food down for a couple of hours, we'll get you released, but there'll be conditions, Colonel." He flipped his wrist to look at the time piece, "It's four."

"PM or AM?" John wished the scientists of Atlantis would just give it up already and speak in military speak. No ambiguity in afternoon or morning with military time.

"Afternoon, Colonel," said Beckett.

Afternoon, and he'd been in and out for two days, which meant he had a lot of work to catch up –

"And ye'll no be going to work, but straight to your quarters, and rest for the remainder of the day, is that clear?"

"I feel fine," protested John, wondering if the good doctor had gotten the ability to read minds and kept it a secret – either that, or he really was getting predictable.

Beckett's arms had folded. "Aye, perhaps you do, but you'll still feel fine if you go to your quarters and rest, which we cannae say the same if you jump back into work and suddenly realize you no longer feel fine – if you get my meaning."

John sighed. He unfortunately did. "Loud and clear, Doc."

Two hours crept by, and John found himself feeling increasingly tired, irritable, and the nagging headache that had begun as merely a hint of discomfort had grown to full-blown ache.

"Doc!" snapped Sheppard, finally reaching the end of his patience. It had to have been two hours.

Beckett emerged from his office, looked at his watch with annoyance, and strode to Sheppard's bed. "Yes?" he drawled with exaggerated patience.

"It's got to have been two hours," prodded John.

"One and a half, Colonel."

Oh. Damn. He wanted out of here. "Look, that's got to be good enough, right? No throwing up, no queasiness, no passing out – I'm fine. Whatever was wrong, it's all better. Can I go now?"

Oddly enough, all he did want to do at this point was go to his own bed, and sleep. It was nearing six in the evening, and the thought of curling up and taking a nap was so appealing it was all he could think of – but in his own room, with privacy, quiet and no nurses hovering.

Beckett was frustrated, and John didn't think it was all due to him, but it was too his advantage because the doctor caved.

"Fine, but if you start feeling ill again, don't make me find out second-hand, and by the way, Rodney will be coming around later tonight to check on you." Beckett held a hand up and ticked off his fingers. "And Teyla around two in the morning, Ronon around six, and Elizabeth at ten. Assuming that all is well, I want you to report to the infirmary after noon."

"What?" exploded John.

"Remember, I said I'd release you under certain conditions. The conditions are you stay in your quarters to rest, and that you are checked on every four hours. We're still unclear why you were out of it for two days, and sick. We ruled out concussion, and that was about all we could do. There doesn't seem to have been any physical cause for what happened. I've no intent to let you go off and get worse under our noses."

He thought about arguing, but between the headache and the sudden realization that he really really had to go to the bathroom, his only intent was to get out of here. "You win, but this isn't necessary."

"Aye, and last I checked the diploma on the wall allows me to decide what is or is not necessary, now go, but remember what I said." Beckett gestured at the pile of clothing on a nearby chair. "And Colonel, those scheduled drop-ins, might not be so scheduled."

As Beckett left, Sheppard fought the urge to bitch about the situation, but opted instead to cut his losses and leave while he could. He got dressed, surprised at the shot of queasiness that moving caused. Oh, god, he did not feel good. Pounding head, reluctant stomach – and he really really needed to go pee.

He probably set the speed record for getting dressed, but only slid into his pants and shirt, opting to carry boots and jacket. He just didn't feel good enough to mess with it all, and why bother anyway, he was going to crash on his bed when he got to his room.

The nausea grew worse the more he walked, and by the time the door of his room came into view, he had to sprint to make it to the toilet. He threw up the remnants of soup, and toast. Disgusting, he thought, before rinsing his mouth. Maybe he was sick, some kind of flu, and it was doing a rebound? Taking care of his other pressing matter, he finally left the bathroom and dropped to the bed. He was so damn tired –

"Sheppard," McKay called, shaking the man gently at first but gradually harder.

John snorted, rolled and tried to bury his head under a pillow.

"As much as I'm sure you are deluded enough to believe that I enjoy the honor of checking on you, I don't, so wake up already and I'll verify to Carson that you are indeed still alive and functioning, and we can both go our merry ways."

Rodney's prodding finally had the desired effect, and John woke up, staring groggily at McKay. "Whazzit?" he slurred.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Wake up, sleeping beauty, and demonstrate that you are fully cognizant and not going to die in the next four hours."

"Time?" John was slowly becoming aware.

"Ten at night, or to you, 2200, now, if you are fine, I have other things to do." Rodney started moving towards the door, when a gagging sound caused him to turn back to John rather abruptly.

A very green John, that was making a mad dash for the bathroom.

McKay groaned. There went his plans. Sighing, he moved towards the bathroom, and trying to ignore the smell, wetted a washcloth and handed it to Sheppard, who was now getting to his feet shakily.

"Out," said Sheppard, pointing to the door.

"I'm just trying to help," he said.

"I've got to go pee, McKay, and unless you want to supervise -"

"Ah, no, I'll just be," Rodney pointed behind him, "out there."

John nodded miserably, and waited till McKay was clear before shutting the door. God, he felt like shit.

He finished, washed, and was just leaving when he caught the tail end of McKay talking on the radio.

"- he was sick."

"You didn't just call Beckett," accused Sheppard.

Rodney didn't even look abashed. "Of course I just called Carson, what do you think the entire point of my being here was about?"

"I feel fine," argued John. And strangely enough, he did, in fact, he was kind of hungry. "Hey, do you've got one of those chocolate power bars on you? Kind of got a craving -"

"No, I do not have one of them on me, are you nuts?" McKay looked at him like he'd grown three heads. "Hello, you just got done contributing more than your fair share of body fluids to the Atlantis waste system. That's ration abuse; eating when it's just going to come back up."

"No, seriously, I'm fine, hungry – but fine."

He was pulling on his boots, intent on going scavenging for food, when Beckett arrived, not even bothering to knock. The only sign that he'd been sleeping was the mussed hair and puffy eyes.

"And where would you be going?" he asked smartly, stepping to John's nightstand and setting down his medical bag.

"Food," drawled Sheppard. "I'm fine, just – overheated, shouldn't have slept in my clothes."

"Overheated?" repeated Beckett skeptically. "Sit," he ordered.

John hesitated. He did feel good. Maybe a little indigestion, but he could live with that. He locked eyes with Beckett, and knew if he left now, the only ending would be him in the infirmary.

Reluctantly, he headed back to his bed, casting an accusing glare at McKay. "What?" he snapped at Beckett, after dropping to the bed. "More blood, what – what can you possibly do that you haven't already done?"

"Lay back, Colonel, just going to do a quick test to make sure you've not gone and become dehydrated, though I doubt you are, and then an overall exam. If you pass, I'll leave and see you tomorrow."

"And if I don't?"

Beckett took a ragged breath, probably counting to ten.

"I think you know the answer."

McKay was watching casually from a distance, and John finally threw another glare his way. "You can go now," he said pointedly.

"No, no, I'm fine," waved McKay. "Wouldn't want to leave Carson without any help if we need to drag you to the infirmary, now would I." He smiled smugly.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Definitely, let's just say its payback for the 'take the stick' comment, shall we?"

Beckett took his blood pressure after he'd been lying down for about five minutes, then had him sit, and took his pressure again. He frowned at the results, and when Sheppard went to stand put out a restraining hand.

"Not yet, I've got to take another reading."

"Look, I'm hungry, I'm fine, I promise I'd tell you if I were anything but okay."

"So far, I would agree with you, but one more reading and I'll be even more certain, now sit there and shush."

McKay pushed away from the wall. "You were frowning, Carson. Isn't he dehydrated? Needs an IV – come on, there's something wrong with him!"

"You know, McKay, the stick comment only takes you so far," warned Sheppard.

"He's not dehydrated, from what I can tell so far."

"He's RIGHT here!" snapped John.

Beckett had him stand, and took another reading. He frowned again.

"Would you quit doing that!"

Carson put the cuff away and slipped the stethoscope in place over John's heart, ordering as he did so, "Sit."

Sheppard was the one to frown this time, but he did as told, albeit huffily.

A few minutes of deep breathing, and Carson stripped off his stethoscope and pulled a thermometer out of his bad, pushing it in Sheppard's ear. A soft beep seconds later, and Beckett read the display. "Normal, everything is normal – you said you feel fine?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Sheppard. "Perfectly fine, hungry even, so may I?"

"Rodney?" Carson questioned at McKay with a raised eyebrow.

McKay took a moment to catch his meaning, and when he did, his irritation climbed. "Yes, yes, fine, I've got nothing better to do – not like I'm always trying to save the city, or find new sources of power and weapons so we can fight off the life sucking menaces of the galaxy -"

"I can take care of myself," said John waspishly. "I don't need a babysitter."

"To the mess and back, nowhere else," warned Carson to McKay, ignoring Sheppard.

"You know, this is starting to piss me off."

McKay bobbed his head at Carson, grabbed Sheppard's arm, and hauled him towards the door. "I'll check in after the patient has eaten."

"The patient is RIGHT HERE!"

But, McKay was already dragging him through the door, and down the hall…

Thirty minutes later, Sheppard was sitting in front of a pile of power bar wrappers, and McKay was staring at him in stunned fascination, one bar in his hand half-eaten.

"Where did all of that go?" asked McKay, fascinated. "Seriously, I didn't think your stomach could hold that much?"

"I can eat," grouched John defensively. "I just tend to space it out more. You see how hungry you get after spending the past two days on an IV and throwing up."

If Sheppard was being truthful, he was even surprised at the amount he ate, and his stomach felt distended and unnaturally full. Great. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? He pushed the wrappers away, and took another big gulp of water. God, he had to go pee, again!

"I'm going back to bed," he stated, standing.

"Geez, eat, sleep, puke – you'd think you were pregnant or something," snarked McKay, standing as well.

"Very funny."

"Do you think you can make it to your quarters?" asked McKay. "I actually do have somewhere I need to be."

John had the urge to remind Rodney that this wasn't his idea, but his bladder was practically screaming at him by now. Eat, sleep, puke and pee – McKay wasn't kidding, good thing he knew men couldn't get pregnant, or he'd begin to worry if Chaya hadn't left a little 'remember me' token behind. It wasn't like he was getting laid regularly in the Pegasus Galaxy, and who knows, maybe Ancient men could be mommies?

He realized Rodney had already left. God, he really really had to go pee – quarters, pee, and nap. Deal with the rest afterwards. A guy's got to have priorities…

The end…of part three