AN: Okay, if you don't have a hanky, get one!

Chapter Eight

I'm not sure how long we stayed out there, but when Beckett arrived, looking for me…yeah, he was pissed. Something about pneumonia, and bloody fool, and infirmary. I think he said something about 'not losing you, too' but I tried to pretend I didn't hear it. The thing of it was, Ronon had never assured me he wouldn't do it. Two could play his game, though. I had resources.

And speaking of those resources, I let Beckett harass me off the balcony, waving sheepishly with my good arm to Ronon. He'd raised an eyebrow and his look said 'I told you so' without saying it aloud for Beckett to hear, and the tightness along his jaw line made it clear to me that he hadn't forgotten my question, either. I sensed he wasn't going to do anything drastic now, but then again, I could be wrong, so – "Doc, Ronon's not feeling so hot."

We were on the other side of the door now, and had some privacy. I paused before saying more because I knew where I was going wasn't going to be welcome by one certain Satedan, and as much as I might be inclined to have a death wish, that wasn't what I'd had in mind. "He's contemplating doing something…stupid."

I couldn't say suicide. And wasn't that…stupid. I almost laughed, but caught myself in time. The look of shocked displeasure on Beckett's face kept me on the straight and serious. "Stupid?" he echoed, but recognition was sliding in. He narrowed his eyes at me, and slowly nodded. "Aye…I've been worried…" He released my hand, and tapped the radio. "Major, I need you to find your way to the balcony off the command deck."

I couldn't hear the other side, but I tensed at the knowledge that he was talking to Lorne. I wondered what kind of conversations they'd been having behind my back. Beckett had been worried, and yet, he hadn't come to me about it. Ronon was a member of my team, and no one had confessed their fears about him possibly being suicidal?

The rest of the trip to my quarters was spent in silence, on my part. I was brooding, Beckett was lecturing. About following directions, and how a callous disregard for my life wasn't going to win me a medical clearance for duty any time soon, and what the bloody hell had I been thinking (that last bit was paraphrased). I think I counted at least five bloody's, three idiot's, and one wee – the wee being something about a shot of antibiotics to stave off the inevitable infection.

That was when I drew the line. "I don't have pneumonia," I barked. We'd arrived in my room, and he was trying to tuck me in like a mother hen.

"You'll be bloody well fortunate if you don't get it!" he retorted. "It's winter here, and you were standing on the balcony in your pajamas!" He muttered something else about fools again under his breath.

"I didn't know doctors could transfer hypochondria on to their patients," I grouched.

It was probably the wrong thing to say, because Carson's face grew darker than a thundercloud and he snarled, "It's not hypochondria; it's bloody common sense. I've got you on steroids to help with the inflammation, and steroids lower a body's immune reactions!"

"How the hell was I supposed to know that?" I matched his anger now with my own. A person could only take being lectured to for so long, especially when their pain medicine wore off.

He grabbed the prescription bottles from the nightstand, and shook out two from one, and one from the other. He handed the three pills to me, and after I'd popped them in my mouth, gave me the water. When I swallowed, he said coldly, "Because your doctor ordered you to bed, and nowhere else."

I sensed that this was deeper ground than I'd thought. We'd played these parts before, but never with this degree of heaviness, or emotion. "I'm sorry," I said, and I meant it. I could feel the hurt in him now – the hurt the anger had been masking.

His hands were shaking as he took the empty glass, and set it on my nightstand. He turned quickly, and I could tell his shoulders were trembling. Carson had never been stoic. Emotions overwhelmed him easily; they always had.

But I still needed some answers. "How long have you been watching Ronon – and why didn't you tell me?" I asked. I used my good elbow to lean up, "It kind of sucked finding him leaning over the edge of the railing like that."

Beckett seemed to lose himself in his thoughts, and his face remained hurt, and scrunched. He came to a decision, and pulled my chair closer, sitting in it. "Let me ask you instead, how long have you been contemplating doing the same?"

I scooted back till I hit the wall, and could take the weight off my good elbow. "This isn't about me," I countered.

He shook his head sadly. "You're wrong. It's all about you."

What'd that mean? That I was self-absorbed, or the cause, or what? I tried to form a reply, but nothing sounded right in my head.

Looking up at the ceiling to gather his composure, Carson started talking. "After Ronon brought you to the infirmary aboard the Daedalus…" he drifted off, shaking his head from the memory. He met my stare and smiled tightly, "You were a mess, Colonel."

Nothing like the truth, I guess. "I'd watched my best friend die."

Beckett nodded. "Yes, you did. You went a wee bit crazy there for a while. We couldn't get you to calm down, listen or do anything." He folded his arms, as if to protect himself from the memory. "Ronon had to restrain you a few times in that first week. You said some pretty…rough things."

My memory of that first week after was vague. I'd been doped up, and when I tried to remember events, all I had were flashes of me begging Rodney to stay. I twisted my neck uncomfortably. "I don't…remember."

His look was gentle sadness. "No one blames you, son. But you had your own demons to wrestle; you weren't in a place to take on anyone else's."

I felt my throat closing up. I'd been a fool. Just like Beckett accused me of being, but not the kind he meant. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

Surprising me, Carson rose, and sat on the edge of my bed, pulling my head to his shoulder. His arms enveloped me in a hug so tight it made my arm ache even more, but I couldn't complain, or pull away. I cried. I cried like I hadn't done since I was a baby. I couldn't figure out how to get through this. Rodney was dead, Ronon on the verge of suicide – broken souls, from the loss of one man. But it was the loss of my best friend, and nothing would be the same ever again.

When the storm passed, he made his way to my door, but before he left, he turned back towards me, and his face was so raw, I knew we were scarred for life. "I've lost one dear friend," he said. "Lost more patients than I care to remember. I'm not going to lose another because of stupidity. Stay in that bed till I tell you to get up."

"Okay," I assured him, still wiping off my swollen face, and feeling acutely aware of this horribleness in the air; the meaning of stupidity. "No more stupidity." I was sick to death of the word.

When he left, I couldn't believe how screwed up I was. I hadn't seen this break down coming even when it'd been right in front of my face. Renewed guilt washed over me, and I closed my eyes. "See that, McKay? That's why we needed you here."

I breathed in, deep, until my lungs couldn't hold anymore, and held it for a moment, before expelling it, trying to regain some measure of equilibrium. "Radek is moving in to your office. I guess if someone has to, I'd rather it was him. At least you fought with him as much as you fought with me."

Silence replied, and I clenched my left hand into a fist. I couldn't roll over on my right side like I preferred. I debated on getting up and playing a game of solitaire, but the pills were finally kicking in, and I was just tired enough to not want to move, but not enough to fall asleep. I stared at the ceiling. "Rodney – I bet you're impressed as hell at how badly I'm falling apart without you here." He'd always said I'd be lost without him. I suspected even he never realized just how true those words had been.

My playlist was still queued, and stretching my left hand, I was able to hit the play button. Johnny started singing about how he hurt himself today. I rolled back on to my pillow, and figured Johnny had it right. The song continued, and the words hit with such force that I broke all over again.

What have I become, my sweetest friend…everyone I know, goes away, in the end…

I sat abruptly, and savagely swept the laptop off the nightstand. God damn it…God. Damn. It.