A/N: Thanks for the wonderful reviews, they are keeping my fingers typing...
It took two more days until John finally managed to stay awake longer than a few minutes at a time. It wasn't the first time he had been shot, but it never ceased to amaze him how something so small could mess up his body for weeks – not to mention how easily it could have killed him. He didn't even want to think about what that would have done to Teyla and Elizabeth.
"What are you dreaming about?" Ronon asked. The Satedan occupied the bed next to his since John had been moved from the ICU the day before. Neither man minded the company and each welcomed the distraction the other could provide.
"Huh? Nothing important…" Sheppard replied. He wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed that Ronon wasn't the most talkative of people. McKay was annoying as hell, but he certainly knew how to keep one's attention.
"Whatever…I'm hungry." he growled.
"Ronon, you're always hungry," Sheppard teased with a smile. He had known how much the man could eat since he watched him put away his lunch with his fingers on his first day in Atlantis, but now that he had witnessed firsthand what his friend could stow away in an entire day, he was even more amazed.
"Good morning gentlemen!" the familiar Scottish brogue greeted, followed by an extra cheery looking Beckett carrying only one breakfast tray. John wondered what this was all about.
"Ya hungry yet, lad?" The question was directed at Ronon, who nodded vehemently.
"Well, that's a shame because it looks like there's no breakfast for ya here."
"What do you mean?" Ronon asked unbelievingly, making John wonder whether hunger actually slowed the man's brain capacity.
"Yer just gonna have ta go to the mess hall to fetch breakfast yerself, we're no hotel, ya know."
"What? But…why?"
Carson had the hardest time in keeping himself from bursting out laughing when he saw the look of utter confusion on the Satedan's face. He was going to tease him some more, but Sheppard didn't think this was even remotely funny and abruptly put an end to it.
"For God's sakes, Ronon. He's releasing you," he hissed.
"He is?" Ronon looked from the Colonel to Beckett for confirmation. The doctorwas still grinning widely.
"Aye. I'm sorry, lad. But if ya could have seen yer face, it was hilarious."
"Hah, funny. So I'm free to go?" It was only a rhetorical question, and Ronon was already busy taking off his scrub top and putting on the shirt that he had kept hidden under the bed.
Once Ronon was on his feet, he headed straight for the door. But before the Satedan could disappear into the hallway, Carson's expression grew serious again.
"Not so fast, young man," he called after him, making him stop dead in his tracks,"I just want ta make myself clear. Yer still on sick leave, so no running, no stick-fighting, and no going to the mainland. I want ya ta go to the mess hall ta get something ta eat, and head straight for yer quarters afterwards. Oh, and I expect ya here for a check up tonight."
"Got it. Can I go now?" Ronon had only been half-listening. Beckett's instructions were always the same and he wasn't the type to follow doctor's orders. He knew best what his body couldor couldn't take.
"Right, leave me all alone in the lion's den," John said, just loud enough for Ronon to hear.
"Sorry Sheppard. Gotta go now!" he exclaimed and was out the door before John could say another word.
"Great!" His mood was already turning sour. There had been a brief flash of hope when Carson first came in with his cheerful expression that he was also going to be released. But the tray in the doctor's hands, and the lingering IV were his first two guesses that there was no way he was free to go as of yet.
"Don't worry, Colonel. I brought ya breakfast." Carson put the loaded tray in front of him. There were all kinds of things – toast, bread, rolls, butter, marmalade, peanut butter, bacon, and somebody had even gone through the trouble to make him some scrambled eggs. There was also a large glass of orange juice to go with it all. Still, the fact that the only thing John really looked forward to about breakfast – the coffee – was missing, didn't exactly lighten up his mood.
"I'm not hungry," John sighed, pushing the tray away.
"Oh, come on. Don't act like a little school girl, will ya?" Carson was quickly losing patience, but Sheppard ignored his remark.
"When do I get out?"
"This is gonna take some time. Yer body has to regain some of its strength first. If I let ya out now, ya wouldn't make it to the door."
John didn't even argue with that. He felt incredibly weak, and his wound was also giving him some trouble. "But why is Chewie on his feet already? He's been shot in the stomach on the same day and is running aroundas ifnothing happened!"
Carson sighed. He had expected this kind of reaction. "First of all, he didn't suffer massive blood loss like you did, his bullet didn't hit any organs, and he wasn't in a coma for almost four days. And besides, he eats more," he said with a pointed look toward the rejected breakfast.
"Here we go again."
"Aye, again! If you'd just listen ta me for a change, I wouldn't have ta remind ya over and over again. It's as easy as this – the more ya eat, the sooner ya'll be back on yer feet."
"I'm not doing this to piss you off, doc. I'm just not hungry." John replied, his voice much calmer. He knew he wasn't an easy patient, and the doctor was only looking out for him.
"How can ya be not hungry? The last time ya ate was 10 hours ago."
"I don't eat breakfast, I never do," he admitted, regretting it immediately. Beckett was paying enough attention to his eating habits as it was, always eyeing him suspiciously whenever he went to the mess hall to get lunch. He didn't need the doctor fussing over him any more.
"Well, those are not healthy eating habits. Yer gonna have ta change them. It's gonna take some getting used to, but once ya do, ya won't wanna do without. Now, eat up."
John considered standing his ground, but he knew from experience that Carson would stick to his guns. He decided this wasn't worth fighting the doctor over, pulled the tray closer, and choked down some toast with bacon and a whole spoonful of scrambled eggs.
Carson was going to object to the little amount Sheppard had eaten but decided to let it go for the moment.
"So, ya think yer up ta getting out of that bed and walking around for a bit today?" he asked encouragingly.
"Whatever it takes to help me leave sooner," John replied, though he wasn't sure whether he would be able to stay on his feet for very long. The food he had just eaten left him somewhat nauseous.
"Come on, am I really that bad?" Carson asked teasingly, butdidn't get an answer. "Alright, ignore me, but I'm going ta have ta look at that wound before I let ya do anything strenuous."
"Do what you have to do." John didn't care as long as it brought him closer to being released.
Carson gently removed the bandage and inspected the wound closely, before pressing around the intrusion site. The sudden pressure on his already tender stomach made John hiss in pain.
"Hey, I've been shot. We already know that, why do you have to press so hard?" he asked with clenched teeth. He could barely keep the nausea at bay.
"Because I have ta make sure there's no more internal bleedin'."
Sheppard noticed that the doctor didn't seem to look pleased at all. While he concentrated on not puking all over the place, Carson pressed the back of his hand against John's forehead. "Damn it!"
"What?" The answer to that question was reflected in the doctor's serious expression, and John wasn't sure if he wanted to hear an explanation.
"The skin around the wound looks slightly inflamed, and ya seem ta have a bit of a fever."
Sheppard had been in the infirmary often enough to know exactly what that meant. "An infection? After all this time?" he asked unbelievingly.
"I know, it's uncommon…but possible." Carson paused. It wouldn't have surprised him if his patient had developed an infection shortly after the surgery as there had been a lot of dirt and dust in the wound. But almost a whole week later? They must have missed something. "Maybe yer skin is just irritated."
"Carson?" John tried to get the doctor's attention. His nausea was reaching an unbearable level, makingCarson's head swim in and out of focus.
"…and even if it is an infection…"
"Carson?"
"…we caught it quite early…"
"CARSON!" John screamed now, already feeling the bile rising up in his throat. "I'm gonna be sick," he exclaimed, gripping the bedrails with both hands until his knuckles turned white.
Dr. Beckett acted instantly and got a basin under the Colonel's chin just as he was starting to heave up his breakfast. The retching only lasted for a few minutes, as there wasn't much in John's stomach to bring up. The circular motion of Carson's hand on his back was soothing and helped the Colonel to keep the world from spinning too hard.
"That's why I don't eat breakfast," John said once he had caught his breath.
"Let me just go and get something ta help with the nausea." The doctor repluied andSheppard nodded thankfully.
Carson knew that the nausea probably had nothing to do with breakfast, but he had a feeling that his patient wouldn't appreciate an argument of that sort in his current situation.
It only took Carson about two minutes to fetch everything he needed, and he wasn't surprised to see the Colonel was half-asleep when he returned.
John was already too out of it to notice that Carson was there until he felt a prick on his hand.
"Hey, you didn't say anything about another IV! I hate those things!" he protested weakly.
"Aye, I know, son. I need ta give ya some antibiotics to fight off the infection. Just try ta relax now."
Carson had also slipped a mild sedative into the IV. It didn't require a high dose to put the Colonel to sleep, but Carson needed to clean the wound again, and he preferred for John to be unconscious during the procedure. He called one of his nurses for assistance and looked sympathetically at the sleeping Colonel. Had there ever been any injury or illness without further complications for Sheppard? Not since he had known the man.
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Teyla was sitting quietly in the chair next to John's bed when he woke up a few hours later. He was confused and disoriented at first, but Teyla took his hand into hers and brought him around with a calm voice. "Sssh, John. You are in the infirmary."
"Teyla?" he asked uncertainly once the fog in his mind had cleared out a little.
"Yes, John. I am here."
"Wow, that was weird." He'd had all kinds of confusing dreams.
"Do you want me to go and get Dr. Beckett?" Teyla asked, concerned by the Colonel's behaviour.
"No, I'm fine…just a little cold," he admitted.
Teyla wanted to slap herself for not noticing that John was shivering earlier. She helped him pull the blanket up to his chin and felt his forehead. His fever had gone up.
"Can I get some water?" John's throat was starting to hurt from being so dry.
"Of course." Teyla got up and filled a glass with water. She ended up holding the glass for him because his hands were shaking too much to keep it steady.
"Thanks." John seemed relieved after he had gulped down a few sips of water. His throat felt a whole lot better.
After Teyla had helped him settle back against the bed and adjusted his blankets, John noticed that sheseemed to beavoiding his eyes.
"Come on, Teyla. I hope you're not still feeling guilty about this?" he asked, using more effort than he would have liked. His voice, however, wasn't obeying, and a massive headache started to flare up.
"I am sorry you are so sick," she said honestly, side-stepping his question.
"It's not your fault!"
"It is, in a way. I just wish I could help you." Teyla seemed lost, almost helpless. She was taking this whole incident even harder than he thought.
"You can. Just stop feeling guilty, that'd help a lot."John meant what he said. His life would be a whole lot easier if he wasn'tso worried about her.
Teyla sighed. She still wasn't sure if she could ever forgive herself, but if it helped John, she would be happy to try, or at least pretend.
"You gave the word 'friendly fire' a whole new meaning, you know?" he muttered, his voice sounding alarmingly weak now.
Teyla looked up in concern at the sound of his voice and jumped up from her chair. "Colonel! Are you alright?" she asked frantically just as John's head slumped lifelessly to the side. When shaking him and calling out to him didn't bring him back to consciousness, Teyla ran toward the door.
"Dr. Beckett!" she yelled into the hallway, seized with new panic.
A/N: Another cliffie, I couldn't resist! evil grin