Chapter 3
Thank you all so much for the reviews, they really are so helpful.I was pretty worried thatI'd not found McKay's voice here, and have come to realise I'm more like McKay than I care to admit! Thank you to Kodiak, again, for her beta skills. She really is an incredible inspiration to me. All mistakes are my own.
The familiar sound of a Puddle Jumper in the air above jolted me back to reality. Within minutes, I was aware of footsteps, and I rose to my feet, not caring if any more Genii were lurking. Quite honestly, I'd passed the point of caring what happened to me. My gene for self-preservation, which had previously been dominant, had obviously suddenly withered and died – along with my friend.
"Help!" I called. "He's not breathing!"
Not the most eloquent of words, I grant you, but I didn't know what else to say. It's not often that I find verbalising a challenge, but something about the illustrious colonel frequently threw me off balance. I could out-snark the most challenging of rivals, but Sheppard – he seemed to beat me at my own game. I was often lost for words around him, and that was something we both seemed to thrive on. After the events we'd just endured, I prayed that he would survive and still be around to keep me on my toes in the future.
That was another thing Sheppard did to me. I am not a religious man. My great intelligence and education gave me the blinding epiphany when I was a child, that despite what my parents had drummed in to me, there was no single God. No one great ethereal being 'up there' controlling our destinies. How could there be, when logic and science explained everything? Yet, every time Sheppard was at death's door – and wasn't that happening on a far too regular basis to be good for my hypertension? – I found myself praying. To whom, you might ask? I have no idea, but it simply made me feel better to believe that there was someone up there who was listening to my pleas, and that maybe, just maybe, they would take pity on me and not let my friend die. Logically, I suppose there comes a time when we all have to look somewhere for faith, someone, something to guide us through the inevitable 'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune'. I don't think I'm being unreasonable in admitting that I'm astounded that I would chose a deity, whose existence could never be proven by logic or science, to do just that for me.
I exhaled in relief as I saw Carson heading towards me, medical bag slung over his shoulder, as he huffed and puffed his way over.
He moved at lightning speed, checking Sheppard's vitals, stethoscope on the colonel's chest. He didn't utter a word, as he snapped on surgical gloves, swabbed pale flesh, and deftly made an incision in the side of Sheppard's chest, after counting down God knows how many ribs. I gulped as I watched blood and air spurt out, onto the ground, over Beckett – everywhere. He then inserted a tube, and I felt queasy as I saw the blood flowing through the tube at an alarming rate. I wondered if there was an equation that I could use here to help me calculate at what rate a person could bleed out, without them dying. I decided even if there was one, or I could devise one, that I'd really rather not know.
"Shelly!" I heard Beckett call to his nurse, " Can you start an IV, and get some O neg. in him, then start another with gelofusine?" I saw the nurse nod and efficiently go about her task.
Beckett returned his stethoscope to his patient's chest and cursed at what he found there - or didn't.
"Damn. No respiratory effort. Melissa," he called again, this time to his other trusted nurse, "Can you pass me the intubation kit?"
The nurse nodded and soon Beckett had Sheppard's head tilted back as he inserted the laryngoscope into his patient's throat.
"I can't see his vocal chords, there's too much blood. I need some suction, Melissa," he barked.
The nurse inserted something into Sheppard's throat, I didn't see what, as by then I honestly thought I was going to faint, that is to say - pass out. As I heard a slurping sound, I looked away. I'd really seen more blood in the last hour than I ever wanted to see again -ever. I then heard Beckett sigh in relief, and as I dared to look again, I inwardly sighed in relief, as I saw that Carson had achieved his goal.
"Right, let's bag him," he ordered.
I've always teased Carson mercilessly about his lack of scientific skills. Medicine isn't a science as far as I'm concerned. Too much second-guessing and inaccuracy for that. Yet, even I couldn't deny that in a medical crisis Carson sprung to life, acting with a professionalism and determination that was inspirational, to say the least.
I saw him look at Sheppard's wound, shaking his head, and apply a fresh dressing, pressing firmly down on it. Beckett then signalled two of his medical team, and they carefully lifted Sheppard onto the waiting litter.
Ronon chose that moment to put in an appearance. He looked at Sheppard, then over at the dead Genii, and snorted.
"You do that, McKay?" he grunted, jerking his head in the direction of the corpse lying a few feet away.
I just nodded, returning my eyes to Sheppard, as the nurse pushed air into his lungs.
Beckett's voice rang out, "Right, let's get him to the jumper." He then turned to look at me. "Rodney? Come on, let's go."
I must have stumbled, because the next thing I knew, I felt a strong hand on my arm, hauling me to my feet, and then guiding me into the waiting jumper. I was gently pushed onto a seat in the back, and as I watched Carson fuss over Sheppard, I looked up to see Ronon standing over me.
"You okay? You look pale," he murmured.
I sat there feeling completely detached from everything. In my head, all I could see was Sheppard struggling to breathe, then the blood, and finally his pale, lifeless features. I must have zoned out, as then next thing I was aware of, Carson was standing over me. I vaguely was aware of the sensation as he cut away the sleeve of my jacket, and then placed something on my wound - a dressing.
"That's nasty, Rodney," he said quietly, "Why didn't you put a dressing on it, you daft bugger?"
In all the panic, it hadn't even occurred to me. I'd neglected my own wound to care for somebody else –Sheppard. Since when did I care more about someone else's welfare more than my own? After the childhood I'd endured, I'd learned to put myself first; if I hadn't looked after my own interests, I knew nobody else would have. In coming to Atlantis everything had changed. I had found a family, of sorts, and Sheppard had become an irritating brother to me, the brother you loved to hate, and hated to love, but you did it anyway, you just couldn't help yourself.
"Rodney?" Carson's gentle voice startled me. "Are you all right, lad?" he asked, in professional voodoo mode again.
I laughed, perhaps a little maniacally, "No. No, I'm not. I've had a really shitty day. My best friend is probably going to die and it's all my fault. So, no, I'm not all right, thank you very much, Carson!" I felt anger take over, as I lost control of my previous state of disassociation.
Carson just tutted. "No need to get stroppy, Rodney. I know you're worried, but you need to calm down. It won't help the colonel, you getting yourself all worked up like this," he admonished.
"Sorry…sorry. He just…I didn't know what to do…and," I mumbled incoherently until I felt a prick in my shoulder. "What? What did you do?" I asked.
"Just a little something to help you relax, Rodney. We'll be back in Atlantis in a minute, then we'll get the colonel and you sorted out. Okay?" Carson soothed.
I didn't answer him, as I felt the world around me tilt, and everything blur. Through a tunnel of fog, I distantly heard Carson tell Ronon to lie me down, and as the darkness approached, my foggy brain again reminded me of Sheppard, struggling to draw in a breath, fear evident in his eyes. I drunkenly muttered, "The problem with John Sheppard is - it hurts to be his friend." Whether those in the 'Jumper heard my incoherent mumbling, I'll never know, but they were words never more truly spoken.
Tbc.