Touched By An Ancient
By Ann3
Writer's Note: Another tissue alert here ! Poor Carson, I do make him suffer, don't I ?
Just a slight reference to Before I Sleep for this chapter. As always, I hope you enjoy - and thanks as always for the reviews !
Chapter Twenty One
She was missing his smile. Not the unnaturally forced smile that now pasted itself into place. No, she was missing his real smile – the one which brought those charming dimples into his cheeks.
Then again, Elizabeth sadly reflected as she took her seat beside his bed, her own was just as false – the awkward silence that followed clearly as unsettling and frustrating for him as it was for her.
If truth be told, all Carson wanted to do right now was curl up in a ball and just be left the hell alone. All he wanted to do was sleep, but each time he tried… well, it was easier, less painful, to stay awake.
He hated feeling like this. It just wasn't in his nature to feel as miserable, so bloody miserable, as this. Then again, there were a lot of things that he hated right now.
Fortunately for him, and a treasured friendship, Elizabeth hadn't picked up on his simmering anger. Or, if she had, she was being diplomatic enough to keep the hurt it would cause her from showing. She couldn't hide her concern for him, though, or her worry, no matter how brightly she smiled. And however miserable he felt, the compassionate heart of Carson Beckett couldn't have that.
"Sorry, lass, I'm – I'm… well, I'm just not… not the best of company right now…" he said at last – tears that had become his constant companion threatening to spill over yet again as she took his hand.
"You only regained consciousness two days ago, Carson, and you've been through one hell of a lot. No one's expecting you to just bounce back and… well, as someone once said, dance a bloody jig…"
That won her just a trace of more genuine smile as Carson sighed and nodded in weary agreement. It felt ridiculous that he'd spent almost five days in deep coma, yet should still feel so damn tired.
"Aye, lass, I know… John said the same thing…" he replied softly, still absently fingering her hand. Its contact seemed to settle him a little, since his next visitors were met with a much easier smile – even a soft chuckle of laughter at the 'butter-wouldn't-melt' protest of one of those visitors.
"Whatever you're accusing me of doing, doc, you can bet McKay's behind it…"
"Yeah, I usually… hey…!"
If he'd not been so tired and distracted, Carson may have found all this just a little too entertaining. It had been Kate Heightmeyer's idea, as this worrying refusal to talk through his experience continued – to try and coax him into opening up through situations too familiar to arouse his suspicions.
To the relief of three tired and worried co-conspirators, her suggestion appeared to have worked – a handful of wearily chuckled words now prompting an exchange of startled yet hopeful glances.
"Aye, lad… aye, he usually is…"
From the sulky silence that followed, phase two in this subtle conspiracy now slipped into action.
When Rodney McKay was upset, or stressed, which was pretty much all the time, he turned to food. Watching him now rip six bells out of a hapless power bar didn't just make Carson smile, or roll his eyes. As welcome as these were to see, a long glance to the table beside him was most welcome of all – especially when a tentative hand out to it returned with a small parcel from an untouched lunch-tray.
With so much cellophane around it, obscuring its view, he'd not been able to guess its contents. Carson just knew it was a sandwich of some kind – and that he was hungry enough now to eat it. In fact, he was hungry enough to leave the never-ending swathes of wrapping on there, and just…
Carson froze, staring down at the semi-revealed parcel in his hand out of wide, incredulous eyes. Beside him, three cautiously hopeful smiles froze too, turning as one into puzzled, anxious frowns.
"Carson…? Carson, are you alright…?" Elizabeth asked at last, risking a gentle squeeze on his arm.
Still lost in time-locked memories, Carson didn't reply. He didn't move either. He didn't even blink.
When he finally did speak, the telltale tremors in his voice did little to ease their rising concern.
"S – Sandwich… on – on our hike, we… we ate… ate… t – turkey sandwiches…"
The next question was obvious. But its asking, and eventual resolution, was going to have to wait. For whatever reason, the sight of a favourite sandwich had left Carson Beckett in floods of tears.
Yet even as she held him close, trying in vain to comfort him, Elizabeth still found a chink of hope – because John Sheppard's eyes, however tired, were also sending her a message of silent assurance.
'He'll be okay now, Liz… now that he's let himself remember, he'll be okay…'