"He coded on the table but we got him back. We've stopped the bleeding and his blood volume is back up to an acceptable level," Beckett reported to the group, pulling off his blood-covered smock and depositing it into a waste bin.
"What about his leg?" asked Sheppard.
Carson shook his head. "We'll have to wait and see. He's not out of the woods yet," the doctor warned.
-o-
The second time, pain and heat brought Rodney closer to consciousness and he struggled against his Goa'uld captors. His leg hurt, his chest ached, his throat burned, and his head pounded unmercifully. It felt like his whole body was on fire. He had to get away…to make it stop.
"Rodney, take it easy," said Sheppard, grasping the flailing arms by the wrists. "Carson!"
The Scot came out of his office as if shot from a canon and was at the scientist's bedside in an instant. "Rodney?" he asked, grasping the scientist's face firmly between in his hands. "Rodney, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?" McKay's lids cracked open but the eyes behind them were glazed and unseeing as he continued to struggle weakly against Sheppard's grip. Beckett shook his head and grabbed a vial out of a cabinet. Filling a syringe, he injected the contents into the I.V. port and the scientist slowly stopped fighting and grew still. Sheppard released the wrists, placing Rodney's arms gently within the confines of the bed's aluminum safety rails.
Beckett pulled a thermometer out of his pocket and checked Rodney's temperature, grimacing at the reading. "His fever's spiking again," he said in response to Sheppard's silent inquiry.
"Can't you do anything?"
"We're pumping him full of antibiotics. Other than that, all we can do is treat the symptoms as they appear and hope the drugs we're giving him can knock out the infection before any of his vital organs are compromised," the Scot said grimly as he waved over one of the nurses and ordered cooling measures. Pulling the dressing back from Rodney's leg and lifting the Athosian poultice Teyla had recommended, he grimly examined the angry, seeping wound. In a marathon session, they had managed to repair the vascular damage to the scientist's leg, only to have all their hard work put at risk by a tenacious Pegasus-born infection. If they couldn't find something that worked against the bacteria soon, amputation might not even be enough to save the scientist in his current weakened state. Resigned to the fact that it would be awhile before they'd know if the latest antibiotic cocktail was working, Carson replaced poultice.
Glancing back up at Sheppard, he frowned when he realized how heavily the colonel was leaning on the aluminum railing. "You should be in bed, yourself, Colonel." The man had undergone surgery only the day before to remove the dead tissue and repair the damage done to his back.
Sheppard shook his head slightly, still studying the scientist's pale face. Beckett made his way around the foot of the bed and took him by the arm, steering the colonel back to his own bed, and frowning when he noticed spots of fresh blood on the back of his scrub top. "I can take a look at those stitches while they get the ice packs ready," he said, not taking 'no' for an answer and reached for a pair of gloves.
Knowing that Beckett was doing everything that he could for Rodney, Sheppard gave in and crawled back onto his bed. He lay flat on his stomach, wincing as the doctor removed the dressing and checked the long neat row of sutures down his back. "You pulled a few stitches free with that last stunt, but there doesn't appear to be any sign of infection." The doctor disappeared into the supply area and returned a minute later with butterfly strips, using them to reinforce the small area where the stitches had pulled free. "How are the headaches?"
"Almost gone," Sheppard murmured, his face pressed into his pillow.
The colonel's statement had the ring of truth and Beckett grunted, happy that at least something was going right. He had read through several old reports of Janet Frasier's that SGC had obliging sent during the last information exchange through the wormhole. They suggested that the ribbon device had no long-term effects except a persistent headache, which would eventually fade after a few days. That was assuming, of course, the victim wasn't killed outright to begin with. "Glad to hear it."
The nurse arrived with the icepacks and Beckett tiredly patted the colonel on his uninjured shoulder. "Try to keep still until your back has had some time to heal, please. One critical patient is more than enough."
-o-
Rodney woke to the familiar disjointed feeling that told him he was drugged to the gills. He struggled to open his eyes just enough to confirm he was indeed in the Atlantis infirmary and not some Goa'uld torture chamber. Letting them drift shut again, he was overcome by the nagging feeling that there was something important he needed to know. He fought the pull of the drugs, and his own exhaustion, forcing his foggy mind to cooperate. He vaguely remembered Lorne telling him Sheppard was safe. Then it came to him -- his leg, the tourniquet! He concentrated, trying to feel its presence -- too chicken to open his eyes and simply look.
The change in the tempo of the heart monitor alerted Beckett and he left Sheppard's bedside, where they had been talking to Weir, and made his way over to the scientist's bed. "Rodney?" He flicked his eyes toward the monitors, confirming the change he saw there, and then glanced toward the approaching Weir and Sheppard, giving the colonel a glare of disapproval, which the man promptly ignored. Returning his attention to his current patient, he reached over the safety rail and lightly rubbed McKay's chest with his knuckles. "Rodney, are you with us?" The scientist's eyes cracked open, and though a little glassy, Beckett was happy to see lucidity in the blue depths. "Are you in any pain?" he asked.
Rodney shook his head slightly. "Don't feel -- anything," he rasped, fear creeping into his voice.
"Everything's still there," Sheppard instantly assured him.
"Good," Rodney said, his voice fading to a mere whisper. "…good to know." The last word was more mouthed than spoken as his eyes fell shut.
Beckett glanced toward the monitors again. "His vitals are looking much better. What he needs now is rest." He looked pointedly at Sheppard.
"I know, I know. Back into bed," Sheppard groused, but there was a grin on his face.
-o-
Rodney watched from his bed in morbid fascination as Beckett slowly worked his way down Sheppard's back, pulling out tiny bits of black thread which were rapidly stacking up on a white towel, looking somewhat like a heap of tiny spiders. The colonel flinched every time one of small sutures came free. "Are we almost done yet, Doc?" he asked, the last word coming out in a yelp.
"Not even halfway. You sure you wouldn't like that local now?" the doctor asked dryly, pausing in his ministrations.
"What difference does it make whether it's a bunch of shots in my back or what you're doing now? It's still gonna hurt. Just get it over with, will ya?" He gripped the edge of the mattress a little more tightly and gritted his teeth against the bright sparks of pain as Beckett continued to remove the remaining stitches.
"Done," said the physician, putting down his instruments and blotting a few small pinpricks of blood with a piece of gauze. Carefully fingering the incision line, he was happy to note healthy pink skin along the scar.
Sheppard sighed in relief. "Finally!" He turned to look over his shoulder in a futile attempt to see the injury.
"You're still healing, so I want you to go gingerly this next week," said Beckett, picking up the colonel's chart and making a few notations. "No sparring with Teyla, wrestling with Ronon, or heavy lifting of any kind. You put enough strain on that area as it is by participating in simple day to day activities."
"Gotcha." Sheppard shrugged into his shirt. "Can I go, now?" he asked impatiently.
Beckett sighed. "Yes, you can go now." He rolled his eyes for patience as the man energetically hopped off the bed in complete disregard to the instructions he had just been given. "Colonel," he called after the man but Sheppard was already halfway out the door and waved without even turning.
"Go easy, I got it. Catch you later, McKay," he yelled as he disappeared into the corridor.
Still shaking his head, Beckett turned to his remaining patient. "How are you feeling?"
"My leg is throbbing." He couldn't help the worry that crept into his voice.
Carson removed the dressing and checked the injury. "It looks good. You're just feeling it more now that we're backing you off the pain meds." He gave the scientist a frank look and rested a hip on the bed. "How bad is it, really? I can increase the dosage if necessary."
"It's okay, I can manage," replied Rodney. He knew what Beckett was worried about. It hadn't been that long since the enzyme incident and he didn't want a repeat of that experience any more than the doctor did. It had been far too easy to become dependent. A little discomfort was a small price to pay now to keep the same thing from happening again.
"Alright," the doctor agreed, rising. "But if it gets too bad, let me know. I can give you something else to take the edge off. You do need rest to heal."
"That's all I've been doing," complained the scientist. Now that Sheppard had been released, he didn't even have a roomie to distract him from his boredom anymore.
-o-
Sheppard tapped lightly on the door but didn't receive an answer. Turning to leave he was startled when it opened.
"Colonel," acknowledged the Athosian. "I am glad to see Dr. Beckett has deemed you well enough to be released.
"Yeah," he agreed. "Look, um, I just wanted to know if you were okay?"
"My ankle is much better, thank you," she replied.
"That's not really what I meant."
Teyla ducked her head, hiding the emotions that churned just below the surface. "I am fine."
He cocked his head at her. She sighed and stood aside, obliquely inviting him to enter.
Taking a seat in the only chair in the room, he waited for her to settle herself on the edge of the bed. "I'm not going to pretend to know what you're feeling right now, but I'm willing to bet guilt is part of it." He paused. "Not that you should be feeling guilty if you aren't," he quickly backpedaled. "But I know you made a promise to Melosh, and it would make sense if you felt bad that you wouldn't… I mean couldn't fulfill it… What I mean to say is, you have every right to feel the way you do, whether you feel guilt or, um, not." Taking a deep breath, he stood. "You know, I'm just going to leave now," he said, lamely as he backed toward the door.
"Colonel," Teyla called softly just before the door closed.
He stuck his head back in.
"Thank you."
He smiled at her and left.