Chapter 4.

Thanks for the reviews! Thanks also to Kodiak for being such a great beta! All mistakes are my own...

I woke up later, to find myself in an infirmary bed, IV in hand, wounded arm in a sling – me in scrubs. I felt dry mouthed and groggy and as I looked blearily around, the first thing I noticed was that I was alone.

How many times had I woken up in the infirmary with Sheppard lying in the bed next to me? Too many times, was the answer to that question. Invariably, one of us had saved the other from danger, but more often than not he'd saved me. When I went to thank him for his selfless heroics, he always said it was his job. Sheppard didn't want praise or adulation, he just wanted acceptance, of who he was, what he did – he was always so unselfish in that regard – unlike me. I loved to hear people praise me – still do. I suppose after my childhood that's not surprising – at least that's what Kate Heightmeyer is always telling me. I knew that Sheppard hadn't exactly had a Brady Bunch upbringing either, which made my craving for approval even worse, in my eyes. Since when did I develop insecurities? Since I'd found a friend and he'd made me unwittingly realise a few home truths, that's when.

Suddenly the reality of my situation hit me. If I was here alone, where the hell was Sheppard? Fear gripped me in the pit of my stomach, as I remembered recent events.

I'd obviously been asleep for a considerable amount of time. After all, I'd been sutured, I could feel the pull of those in my wounded arm, and dressed in the delightful scrubs – off-white has never been my colour. Sheppard always looked good in scrubs, or so I'd heard the nurses say, then again the man looked good in everything. Sometimes life's wasn't fair in that regard.

So, if I was here alone, there were only two possibilities as to Sheppard's whereabouts. He was still in surgery – or, dead. I prayed for the former.

I furiously scrambled out of my bed, yanking back sheets, stumbling over the IV pole, in my quest for the truth. It wasn't long before I stumbled upon Elizabeth, quietly sitting in a chair in the far corner of the infirmary, head in hands. As I despondently meandered towards her, she looked up at me and I could see the pain in her eyes. He couldn't be dead, could he? I'd prayed, hadn't I? Surely my very own personal deity wouldn't let me down? Not when I'd prayed on such an alarmingly regular basis.

I managed to grind out the most painful question I'd ever had to ask anybody.

"He's not dead, is he?" I gulped.

Elizabeth stood up immediately, concern in her eyes. She walked towards me, and I shrunk away from the compassionate hand that snaked towards my arm.

"God, no," she simply replied. Elizabeth had never been an emotional person. Rarely had I seen her lose her temper, or witnessed the armour of steel around her buckle. Yet those two words conveyed all of her fears and anxieties better than any histrionics or weeping ever could have.

She led me to her chair, pushing me gently down, and knelt in front of me.

"John's still in surgery. They've been in there for five hours now," she explained, the armour firmly in place again. "It's been pretty busy in there, but I cornered a nurse a while ago, and she told me, though they'd lost him twice, that things had improved. All being well, Carson will be finished soon, and he'll tell us what the situation is."

At that moment Carson came bursting through the infirmary doors, exhaustion etched into his features, worry evident in his eyes.

"Rodney, what are you doing up?" he asked, obviously surprised at seeing me sitting there.

Sarcasm got the better of me. "I thought I'd take a little walk. The infirmary is lovely at this time of year, don't you think, Carson?"

He let out a puff of air, and gave me a withering look. "I've just spent the last five hours in surgery, Rodney, and I'm not in the mood for your snippy tongue," he chastised.

"Sorry," I muttered, feeling a little embarrassed at my outburst.

Carson, patted me on my good arm, and sighed.

"That's okay, lad. I know you're just worried." He paused, as if plucking up the courage to give us the much-awaited news of our friend. "Well, don't ask me how, but the colonel survived the surgery – by the skin of his teeth, I might add. We'll be moving him into the intensive care area shortly."

He must have seen Elizabeth's and my elated expressions, as he put up a hand and shook his head in caution.

"I have to warn you, that although I believe the surgery was successful, he's not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. He suffered massive blood loss, and hypoxia is a real issue. Since I don't know how long his brain was deprived of oxygen on the planet, I can't predict if he's suffered any brain damage yet. There are other possible complications from the blood loss as well, so I don't want you to get your hopes up too much," he advised us, concern in his voice.

I took in Carson's words, and though my brain told me the news wasn't the best, my heart just grasped fervently at the word 'survived'.

"Can we see him?" I heard Elizabeth tentatively ask.

"Aye. When he's been settled in Intensive Care. Give me twenty minutes, and I'll let you have a brief visit," he answered, stressing the word 'brief'.

Elizabeth nodded. "I should go and let Teyla and Ronon know the news. I sent them off a short while ago to get some food."

As she started to walk towards the door, she turned, and warmly smiled at Carson.

"Well done, Carson. Thank you, for bringing him back to us," she simply said, before leaving.

Carson frowned after her. "I've done all I can, love. The rest is up to him," he sadly muttered to himself.

"Right, you," Carson said brightly, having obviously gathered his wits, "Bed – now. I've got work to do, and I can't be worrying about what you're up to."

He led me over to my bed, taking over the pushing of the IV pole, and ushered me under the warm covers.

Never one to beat about the proverbial bush, I asked him what I really needed to know.

"What are his chances?"

Life for me was all about probability. Knowing the figures helped me make informed decisions. Self-preservation had always been my driving force – that, and the quest for knowledge, and if I was going to survive this disaster, I needed to understand the numbers. That's all I could deal in.

Carson looked at me wearily.

"I'm not going to give you a percentage, Rodney!" he exclaimed. "That would be medically inaccurate, and a purely educated guess," he explained.

"I thought that's how the voodoo worked, Carson," I retorted, grimacing as I realised pissing off my doctor wasn't the wisest course of action – especially when considering his ample needle collection.

"I know you're worried, but I can't tell you anymore than I already have," he soothed, ignoring my jibe at his chosen vocation. "There is a possibility the colonel will die. Even if he makes it through this, there may be other problems to deal with. But," he paused for thought. "If he makes it through the next twenty-four hours, and if my tests reveal no damage from the hypoxia, then he has a fair chance of making a full recovery. It really is just too soon to tell."

I nodded my head in understanding; not really wanting to accept his words, but knowing that sometimes life didn't give you the answers you so desperately craved. It really was a matter of 'wait and see'. Unfortunately for me, that wasn't something I did easily.

"I want you to get some rest now. I'll let Elizabeth and the rest of your team visit the colonel first, then you can see him later, when I'm sure you're not going to keel over, and when you've got a decent meal inside you. Understood?" Carson asked.

I nodded again, too tired to argue, too worried to care.

As Carson walked away, I suddenly had the compulsion to tell him something.

"Carson!" I called.

He turned around and looked at me quizzically, no doubt wondering what I could possibly want to discuss further.

"Thanks for fighting for him. He'd want me to tell you that," I simply said.

"Aye, that he would. Get some rest, son," he ordered, before leaving me to do just that.

-oOo-

Eight hours later, I was sitting by Sheppard's bed, and what a sight for sore eyes he was. Covered in a thin sheet, warming blanket on top, he just lay there, eerily motionless, save for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the ventilator efficiently serving its purpose. His skin looked like alabaster, hair sticking up as usual, its ebony a contrast to the ivory of his complexion.

Tubes snaked in and out from under the sheet, IV's were scattered across his body, one in his left hand, one in his neck and a third in his right forearm.

The only moderately amusing thing was that the nurses had shaved small patches of his chest hair, where they'd stuck the adhesive pads for the heart monitor, which beeped merrily away. I knew he'd love that, when he woke up - if he woke up.

I sat there for hours, talking to Sheppard. Discussing my theory for unification with myself, my hypothesis on re-charging ZPM's – anything to fill the unnerving silence.

Elizabeth came and went. Holding Sheppard's hand, telling him to fight, that she needed him, as she sat next to him. She was so much better at the friendship game than me.

As I sat there feeling more alone as each moment passed, Ronon suddenly sat down next to me. The master of stating the obvious, and man of few words that he was, he simply muttered, "He doesn't look so good."

I just stared at the gargantuan hairy He-Man, who Sheppard so aptly called 'Chewie'. Several sarcastic remarks were on the tip of my tongue, yet I could only manage a pathetic, "No, he doesn't."

Ronon seemed to be considering what to say next. "You think Beckett can do anymore for him? He's a pretty good doctor," he asked. Despite his calm exterior, I could sense his anger at what had happened to Sheppard, and his fear that this could be the end of the line for our team leader.

I felt so tired, so numb, yet I knew Carson had done everything, and was continuing to do all that was possible to help Sheppard.

"Beckett's the best there is, Ronon," I answered, surprised at my lavish praise. "If the colonel dies, it won't be because Carson hasn't tried everything humanly possible to save him. It'll be because there was nothing more anyone could do." I dejectedly replied.

Ronon snorted. "Sheppard's a fighter, he'll survive. Recognised it in him the first time we met. Just wanted to make sure he was getting the best help," he shrugged.

After those few words, he stood, squeezed Sheppard's exposed arm roughly, and left.

-oOo-

After more hours of sitting at Sheppard's bed, Carson had tried to send me away, reluctantly agreeing for me to sleep next to Sheppard. Which brought me back to the situation I now found myself in, sitting up in bed, stomach in my throat, listening as Carson fought for my friend.

The wailing alarms ceased, and I panicked. Stumbling out of bed, fear coursing through my veins, I made my way to the curtain separating me from my friend. Opening it, I saw Beckett standing by Sheppard, shaking his head.

"Carson?" I managed to gulp.

He turned to me, and I saw the concern on his face. "Rodney, I told you to rest."

"I couldn't, not when with the alarms screeching. What's wrong? Tell me he's not…" I couldn't bring myself to say the word dead. It just stuck in my throat, as I felt a pain in my chest, the ferocity of which took my breath away. This friendship thing hurt, like a knife to the heart.

Carson looked at me, exasperated. "No. He's not dead. But we have a wee problem. I need to get him back into surgery; he's got some sluggish bleeding, which hasn't settled, and his pressure's not so great. It's possible we missed something the first time round," he explained, guilt etched into his features.

Surgery, again? I knew that that had to be bad. "Carson, will he survive more surgery? Surely it's too risky?" I questioned. As if I had the right to question Carson. I know I was frightened, but questioning him like that was unfair, and I regretted my words the second they'd escaped my lips.

Carson just stared at me dejectedly, his brow creasing in thought, then anger showing on his face.

"I realise you're an expert at everything, Rodney, but please don't question me on this. Last time I looked, you didn't have an M.D." Strong words, and I deserved them.

He obviously thought better of his outburst, as his expression softened a little.

"We really don't have a choice. I can tell you that if we do nothing – he will die. I thought we'd caught every bleeder, obviously I was wrong."

He patted me on my good arm, and strode off, quietly barking orders at his staff.

I looked over at Sheppard, and Carson was right, he looked even worse than before; his skin almost translucent, forehead beaded in sweat.

I gingerly made my way over to his bed, and bent down to whisper in his ear.

"Don't make me regret being your friend, Sheppard. The problem with you, is that you have little regard for your own welfare. If you were really my friend, you'd know that your insistence at playing Colonel Courageous is hurting me, and I don't like that. I wasn't meant to suffer. So stop hogging the limelight, pull yourself together and stop being so melodramatic. I mean, all this 'near death' stuff? I've had enough. So, I want you to go into surgery, stop bleeding and come out better, okay? Otherwise I might not want to be your friend anymore. I hope I've made myself clear?"

I walked back to my bed, and watched as the nurses moved his bed towards the surgical suite, wondering if that would be the last time I would see Sheppard alive.

Tbc.