Still far from home; bear with me.
Part 4
The science types continuously surprised Sheppard.
McKay once again proved that he was not only a steadfast loyal friend, when not thinking too hard about it, and that he had some skill in self defense, when again, he was not actively engaging the conscious part of his brain. When McKay worked solely on instinct he had the ability to survive.
It was with some zeal that Ronon truly joined the fight with Teyla happily using broken chair legs as fighting sticks. Sheppard was content to let his team go and sit back and 'direct' their duties without truly becoming engaged in the fisticuffs. His plans fell short when McKay found himself between two 'sawed off' heavily muscled farmers that thought the astrophysicist made a great punching bag.
With a sigh and an air of great reluctance, the Colonel wove his way delicately between combatants, twisting left and right trying not to touch anyone and get dragged into the melee prematurely. The Colonel shook his head and muttered something derogatory about scientists and amateurs. He made his way over to Rodney passing Beckett on the way. The Colonel left him with an encouraging word and suggested he keep his right up to protect his tooth better.
Beckett shot him glare through a swelling eye and continued on his one man rampage. Aching tooth and all.
Sheppard finally reached McKay and insinuated himself between the two heavily muscled men that appeared to be either twins or otherwise closely related.
Perhaps the family tree did not branch much on this planet. Perhaps it was just a stump.
In the end, Sheppard extricated McKay from his difficulties and found a few of his own.
The Colonel was on the receiving end of a bar stool across the back much like Beckett had, but Sheppard lacked the meat to protect underlying bones and ligaments. McKay dove after the farmer not much taller than himself who now only held the round seated remnant of the stool. The combatants traded blows, fire arms remained holstered. Bodies flew haphazardly over tables and across the bar. The floor became slick with sweat, blood, spit and ale.
In just a few moments, the fighters became winded, arms leadened, and legs shaky. Deep gulping breaths hauled in lungs full of humid fetid air which smelled of sweat, greasy food and beer. Regulars moaned as they lay sprawled across their wooded floor amongst furniture fragments and food detris.
The Lanteans remained standing. Those from Earth listed left and right or remained bent over hands resting on knees dragging in great draughts of heated air.
Ronon and Teyla surveyed the damage and found the threat level minimal.
Beckett made a move to start tending to the injured spewed about the floor but Ronon grabbed his shoulder to stop him. It was then Dex found himself on the receiving end of a similar snapping jab that had laid out numerous other patrons.
It barely knocked Ronon's head back an inch maybe two but not much else and split the skin.
Dex merely smiled and gently pushed the sputtering, apologizing, physician toward the bar and away from those he wanted to tend.
Beckett, leaning against the bar, nodded agreeably to the barkeep who slid him a cautious pint. The Scot delicately nursed the ale trying his best to keep the fluid from touching his broken tooth. He tilted his head sideways and covered the tooth with his weary tongue which now threatened to cramp with each passing day. Blood flowed freely from one nostril and he soaked the knuckles of one hand in split ale on the bar top.
Teyla wiped sweat from her unmarred brow with the back of her hand. Her breaths came a little more rapidly than normal and a fine sheen of sweat dotted her forearms and shoulders.
Ronon held a cloth to his head and leaned against the bar shoulder to shoulder with Carson sipping on his own ale.
Apparently no harm no foul.
The colonel wiped his bleeding nose against the back of his hand and tested the sensitive tissue of his grossly swelling and cut lip with his tongue. He stared at the Runner with a jaundiced eye.
Sheppard figured Ronon escaped relatively unscathed because in order for anyone to truly smack him in the jaw, they'd have to practically jump up to do it. And looking at the size of the man and the very feral nature of his expression, most people, even tavern regulars would realize what a wasted effort it would be to try and take down someone built like a wall and with the attitude of---well a Scotsman with a sore tooth.
The tavern regulars apparently had a great deal of common sense when it came to facing Ronon Dex, runner extraordinaire. However, they exhibited a parallel lack of common sense with Carson, when it came to leaving well enough alone. Where Carson took a somewhat successful swing at Ronon, and survived, only by the good graces of the runner himself; the tavern regulars had continued to take swings and land punches at the irate Scotsman despite the fact that the red faced, snarled lipped highlander answered strike for strike with more efficiency and power than anyone who took a swing at him.
Sheppard figured they had just been caught up in the moment.
After a few moments of sipping their drinks and collecting their gear, the group decided it was with-in everyone's best interest if they left.
The team limped toward the stout thick wooded door, muttering, belly aching and dabbing blood from various parts of their bodies
The bar keep paused in wiping down the bar top and had asked them not to come back, and if they did return could they please leave behind the mean tempered one with the funny speech. Beckett solemnly promised to leave McKay at home should they ever decide to visit again. He took a final sip of ale before resting the glass on a teetering table near the door. He grimaced as the lukewarm liquid hit his tooth and muttered the now familiar curses of his ancestors.
They left behind a single room full of moaning bodies, broken windows, and shattered furniture.
And hence, SGA-1 and Dr. Carson Beckett, became embroiled in a bar brawl to rival any destruction seen on that planet that was non-Wraith related.
The walk back to the gate had not been much easier or any more pleasant, but they were determined to make it back. Well, most of them were pushing their best for DHD. One of them had an appointment with a specialist brought in on the Daedalus and dragged his feet accordingly.
The others kept a shuffling slightly zigzagging pace, but worked to ensure there was no chance of him missing it---They after all, 'left no one behind'.
What a night.
Sheppard continued to lean against the infirmary wall, wishing he was back in his quarters sleeping this whole incident away. Instead, he found himself in close proximity to another potentially explosive situation.
Beckett moved his leg again, this time he bent his right leg with more alacrity and coordination and his right hand fisted while his left hand started to move. His right foot gained purchase on the lower part of the nearly horizontally reclined chair.
Sheppard stepped away from the wall and delicately dropped his good arm. From the corner of his eye he saw Ronon push away from his wall and also step forward.
The doc might not come with built-in tsunami sirens but he did give his own set of warning signals.
Beckett put more pressure on his right foot while his right arm moved upward to the back of Biro and toward his head. His butt left the seat as he twisted slightly putting more weight onto his shoulders. His left leg bent and found purchase next to the right one. Beckett held the position for only moment before raising his left knee closer to his chest.
"I think you better give him more happy gas," Sheppard warned as he took another step forward.
Mitchell kept working; Biro hesitated and kept her eyes on the cut and bruised knuckles of Beckett's left hand.
Beckett's feet had yet to slip from the bottom of the seat. The Colonel watched as the CMOs upper legs flexed and tensed under the beige heavy material of his medical uniform.
"We're almost done," Mitchell muttered still concentrating on his work, ignoring the smoldering explosion that puffed out small warnings with every tense muscle and flinch.
Beckett's left hand reached up behind Mitchell, fingers flexing and unflexing as if trying to find coordination and garner strength.
"I think---" The colonel tried again, keeping his tone pleasant but hoping to convey a sense of urgency and warning as he sidled up to the right of the chair behind Biro.
Beckett rolled his head to the right, away from the light that glared down on him from above and way from the fingers and instruments that crowded his open mouth.
"Not yet, Dr. Beckett, you need to hold still," Mitchell muttered and gripped Carson's bruised jaw and turned his head back to the light.
Shit.
Sheppard took another step forward with Ronon on the opposite side as Beckett squarely planted his right foot on the bottom of the chair and snapped his head vigorously to the right with a weak groan. His left knee rushed toward his chest as both hands shot up blind to protect his mouth. Instead his right hand found the back of Biro's gown and gnarled it into his fist nearly dragging the smaller woman off her feet.
"Back off, Mitchell," Sheppard hissed.
Beckett snapped his head left and right and tried to raise it off the head rest. The severe tilt of the chair and gravity were against him, making the movement unduly difficult. The black rubber nose cone that fed light anesthetic slipped to the side.
"Easy, Carson," Biro quietly intoned unconcerned that Beckett had her blue surgical gown tightly twisted in his fist and his back slightly arched off the chair, "Sarah, increase the flow again," the pathologist ordered as she placed the nose mask back in place and held it there, following the sluggish movement of Beckett's head.
"Colonel," Biro spoke calmly without turning her head but held a needle covered partially filled syringe toward Sheppard. "Inject this into the IV port in the back of his hand---it's just a sedative."
Sheppard took the needle and syringe and carefully injected it into the yellow/tan IV capped catheter. The orange of surgical soap stained the bruised skin under the clear tap that held it in place.
"Don't recap the needle," Biro took the offered needle and syringe and gave Sheppard a second one, "It's simply a flush to clear the line."
"We're almost done," Mitchell snapped, "if we work faster---"
"Dr. Beckett doesn't deserve to have to feel or deal with any of this," Biro spoke softly but the steel in her tone easily conveyed her immoveable stance. "You can work as quickly as you want when he's ready."
Sheppard stepped back. He stood just at the foot of the chair and watched as the fist that had snared Biro's gown slowly started to relax. The pathologist turned slightly and with her free hand, carefully eased Beckett's semi lax fist out of the surgical gown and back to his side. His feet lost their purchase on the chair and slowly slid out straight again with the toes of his sneakers pointing in opposite directions. He settled heavily back into the chair. Beckett tried moving his right foot to no avail. His muscles lost their tension and his quadriceps relaxed as knees straightened out.
Sheppard watched as Beckett's breathing deepened and his ribs expanded and contracted in a lazy fashion pulling his thorax and cranial abdomen up and apart with each deep breath. His abdomen fell heavily below the costal arch of his rib cage with each heavy exhale.
"That's it Carson," Biro soothed, "nice deep breathes." She looked to the monitors behind the anesthetic machine and nodded her approval at the numbers and patterns that blipped by with rapid but constant results. She patted his shoulder, stripping off her gloves and reaching for another pair.
From his angle, Sheppard watched the tension leach from Beckett's neck and the determined look that had captured his eyes only moments before bled away to a half hooded dull expression.
The deep breaths continued until finally what little tension that had still knotted his muscles was sapped from his body and he slid deeper into the chair.
Biro rested an ungloved hand on Beckett's chest and waited a moment peering slightly sideways at her boss. "You okay, Carson?"
A lazy grunt and a slightly shifted foot was her only answer.
The pathologist nodded quietly to herself, pleased with the response, and patted his chest in reassurance.
"Shall we continue?" she asked not bothering to look at Mitchell as she snapped on her surgical gloves. She handed him another instrument, silently commanding him to finish the job.
Sheppard shared a look with Ronon. The runner smirked and both stepped back against the wall and watched and waited.
Biro could handle herself. They didn't need to be here.
They weren't here for Carson's sake. Not really, though if it eased the Scotsman's mind then it was a plus, chances were their presence made it worse for him. However, Sheppard figured the only thing that was going to make Carson happy was having the tooth disappear altogether. Ronon and Sheppard were here to keep Biro and Mitchell safe. The tooth wasn't going to disappear, but the root canal, infection and crown needed to be dealt with in one fell swoop over the next few days. The Daedalus was only here for a finite amount of time.