Thanks for the reviews! Thanks, as usual to Kodiak for her editing and beta skills, where would I be without you? All mistakes are mine.
Two hours later and Sheppard was still in surgery. I hadn't managed to get any rest, but had sat on my bed, wringing my hands together, despite the complaint from my injured arm in the sling. For the first time in my life I understood about using physical pain to punish myself; it really did make me feel better to use my discomfort to keep me focused on what Sheppard was going through, and to remind myself that his precarious situation was ultimately my fault. How could I rest and be comfortable when my friend was the unwilling participant in another one of Carson's search and find missions?
A gentle hand on my shoulder brought me back to what could loosely be regarded as awareness, and I turned to see Teyla sitting beside me on my bed, smiling serenely.
"Rodney, are you feeling better?" she gently enquired.
I pondered her question. Physically I was in pain and tired – no, exhausted. Yet my physical pain paled into insignificance when taking into account my emotional suffering. Why had I allowed myself to become attached to someone whose very nature determined that he would constantly be injured or in danger? How had I managed to let my genius slip, and make such a mistake of gargantuan proportions?
I gulped. "No, I'm not," I answered, desperately trying to fight the lump in my throat.
Teyla's face showed concern. "Do you want me to find Dr. Lambert. Perhaps he can give you something for the pain?" she asked soothingly.
She thought I was in pain. Well, I was, but the kind of pain I was feeling couldn't be quelled by a hefty dose of analgesic.
"No. Thanks for asking. I'm just…scared," I admitted, as I felt the heat in my cheeks betray me, and show the embarrassment I felt at that cowardly admission.
Sheppard would never show his fear. He internalised everything, so nobody really knew how he felt. Occasionally I'd noticed emotion in his eyes, but as soon as he'd let that slip, up went the shutters, and the guarded expression returned – all in the blink of an eye.
He was always there for everybody else. But were we there for him when he needed us? He was a rock for Elizabeth, a hope for Teyla. A controlled figure for Ronon to look up to, someone who would take hold of Ronon's leash and steer him in the right direction. What was he for me? He simply got the best out of me. With his snarks and snide remarks, and his total belief in me, he pushed me further than anyone else would or could, and told me he knew that I'd never let him down. Well, it seemed after recent events I had. This latest disaster was error number two.
I'd failed Sheppard spectacularly when I'd behaved so single-mindedly concerning the Arcturus project. I had used our friendship, his trust in me, to persuade him to support me in continuing my experiment on the power source. I had, of course, nearly severed our friendship with my arrogance, along with destroying five sixths of a solar system. Strangely, the thought of our friendship ending disturbed me much more than the destruction of said solar system.
Sheppard had, however, quickly forgiven me, blaming himself for not reining me in. He always had to turn things around and lay guilt at his own door, when we all knew on that occasion that I'd screwed up in galactic proportions.
This time I'd let him down again, by not taking cover and running when I was ordered to. He'd paid the price for my cowardice, and I didn't know how I was ever going to forgive myself. I knew he would though – forgive me, that is. Sheppard wasn't a man to hold grudges, well maybe against that sadistic bastard Kolya, but I couldn't blame him on that one. Even when he'd had the chance to kill the man, he'd shown humanity, and let him go. I don't know many military men who'd have done that.
Teyla sighing interrupted my musings, as she nodded her head in understanding.
"I too am fearful for Colonel Sheppard's well being. I do not understand the details of his condition, but I saw the concern on Carson's face," she explained. "To feel fear is not something to be ashamed of Rodney," she admonished. "We all feel it, even Ronon," she simply said. "We should pray to the Ancestors and ask that they return John to us safely. Will you join me?" she entreated.
Pray? Again? I considered her request. No doubt she had in mind some ridiculous Athosian ceremony, involving singing and incense burning. Not really my sort of thing.
"Pray to ascended beings who are so high and mighty that they won't lower themselves to interfere in our mere mortal existence? They could help us, saving millions in the blink of an eye! How can you expect me
to be a believer in the great divinity of the Ancestors, knowing all that? I think it's fair to say my heart wouldn't be in it," I blurted out, fervently hoping Teyla wouldn't deck me for my perceived blasphemy.
What she did next surprised me. She gently took my good hand, holding it lightly in her own warm hands, and looked me in the eye.
"I understand. Perhaps you have your own god to pray to?" She asked.
I snorted. "The only god I have is logic and science. They explain everything, so why bother with anything else?" I knew that wasn't exactly true, but how could I explain to Teyla my sudden desperate desire to converse with my own fabricated deity, when I couldn't even explain it to myself?
Teyla smiled again. "Then pray to logic and science, Rodney."
So that's exactly what I did. Possibly I asked my deity to save my friend, while simultaneously calculating the probability of Sheppard surviving, using an algorithm I had brilliantly devised. What did it matter? Teyla would never discover the truth; that I needed to believe a mystical, almighty and yet ridiculous power would magnanimously save my friend just because I'd asked it to.
I don't know how long I sat there, praying with Teyla. But, her compassion and friendship towards me that day affected me more than I could ever explain. It also may have saved our friend, and as the rumble of voices entering the infirmary interrupted our prayers, I knew the hour of reckoning had come. Carson was back.
I jumped from the bed, stifling a yelp as my arm reminded me it was injured.
"Carson?" I pitifully moaned.
He smiled tiredly. "He made it though the surgery, Rodney. No nasty surprises this time. We did miss a bleeder, and it was a bugger to find, but find it we did," he wearily explained. "He really held his own in there this time. He's in Post Op now, but we'll be returning him to Intensive Care shortly." I went to open my mouth, but his hand shot out to stop me. "Before you pitifully whine at me. Yes, you can sit with him," he added. "But only for a short while. You need rest, and I'm not going to be swayed this time."
I nodded in agreement, knowing I'd already pushed Carson to his limits. I smiled at Teyla as she squeezed my hand, and sat down again to wait for Sheppard to be returned to the infirmary. Teyla's prayers may just have worked. Of course, it could well have been my own deity coming through for me. Maybe it was both. I didn't care – I just wanted my friend back, even if it was so I could tell him that I really didn't want to be his friend anymore.
-oOo-
When Carson did allow me to sit with Sheppard, I really couldn't see that he looked any better than before he went back for more surgery. The ventilator still hissed rhythmically, the monitor still beeped. Tubes still covered Sheppard's pale body, and blood still drained from his damaged chest. Carson assured me that was normal, his chest was just recovering, and that the fluid and blood needed to come out.
When I suggested that perhaps he should be paying careful attention to how much blood Sheppard was still losing, Carson snapped, telling me that if I thought that the colonel was losing a lot of blood now, he was glad I hadn't seen how much Sheppard had been losing earlier. He may also have threatened me with a voodoo hex, but by then he was so angry that I couldn't understand a word he was saying; his Scottish accent having suddenly thickened in his ire. I'm sure I heard something about asses, chickens, haggis and rattles, but decided it was better just to nod my head and appear apprehensive and cowed, rather than to question his medical ethics.
-oOo-
The next forty-eight hours passed in a blur for me. I did get some sleep, in the infirmary bed next to Sheppard. I also watched as Elizabeth, Teyla and Ronon visited the colonel, each giving him words of encouragement in their own individual ways.
Carson was pleased with Sheppard's progress. His numerous tests had revealed no obvious brain damage, though Carson was quite certain to remind me that he couldn't be sure until Sheppard regained consciousness. The man in question had been gradually weaned off the ventilator and had progressed onto oxygen in the form of a nasal cannula, which I knew he would bitch about when he woke up. He hated catheters more though, so I was looking forward to riling him about that.
Sheppard's sedation had been decreased too, and Carson was expecting him to wake up very soon, though he warned, again, that the colonel was doped up on morphine and other drugs and wouldn't be really lucid – nothing new there, I'd told him.
Wake up shortly, he did. His twitching hand had caught my attention first, then a soft moan. Blinking eyelids and another moan had me rushing to get Carson.
I watched as Carson stood over Sheppard, gently talking to him, encouraging him to join the land of the living again.
"Come on Colonel, I really need you to open your eyes for me," he encouraged his drowsy patient.
Sheppard squinted against the harsh infirmary lights, closing his eyes and frowning. His hand automatically reached for his face, and he groaned as it pulled on his wounded side.
Carson tutted sympathetically. "Aye, lad. It'd be better if you didn't move too much," he gently chided Sheppard. "You're in the infirmary, Colonel. You had a spot of bother off-word, and I had to perform a wee bit of surgery, but you're going to be fine, son."
Sheppard looked at Carson blankly, a puzzled and confused expression on his face. He rather reminded me of a lost puppy dog, and I had the overwhelming urge to pat his wild hair. He really needed to pay a visit to the poodle parlour, I suddenly thought.
Thinking better of petting the puppy, I positioned myself in his line of sight and smiled. "Hey. You're finally awake?" I asked. "Are you with us, or did your brain finally lose its last active cell?" I quipped.
Sheppard turned his head slowly and smiled weakly at me.
"My brain…cells…are…jus' fine," he whispered weakly, trying to swallow to ease his raspy throat.
Carson had had the foresight to bring ice chips with him, and deftly guided one into Sheppard's parched mouth.
"Is that better, lad?" he gently asked. "How's your pain?" he questioned further.
Sheppard greedily sucked on the ice, before whispering, "Thanks. I'm good."
Typical Sheppard. When anyone asked him how he was feeling he was either good, or not so good. Now, for your average grunt those were probably appropriate answers, but Sheppard, well he was hardly average, was he? – at anything, despite the picture he tried to paint.
Carson grimaced. "I doubt you're feeling good, Colonel. Are you in any pain?" he asked again, a little more forcefully.
Sheppard slowly shook his head. "'M' good, really," he slurred.
"Okay. Just let me know if you need anything," Carson replied, and I saw him fussing over one of Sheppard's many IV lines.
I couldn't believe the man, how could he not be in pain? The frown, the beads of perspiration on his brow, the fine lines around his eyes. Exasperated, I reminded him not to be so – Sheppard-like.
"Oh, for goodness sake, don't lie there suffering because you think it makes you look manly, it doesn't. You just look stupid," I berated. Turning to Carson, I reminded him of his duty to his patient. " Can't you see he's in pain, Carson? For God's sake give him something!" I yelled.
Carson huffed out a breath of air. "I already have, Rodney. Do I look completely witless?" he asked honestly.
"Sorry, I didn't see you slip him something," I answered. "Though I'm changing nationality and pleading the fifth as to whether or not you look witless," I retorted. Fear always did make me lose control over my mouth.
I looked down at Sheppard, and saw him look at Carson.
"Thanks, Doc," he muttered drunkenly, the morphine obviously having taken effect.
"You're welcome, Colonel. Don't lie to me next time," Carson chastised gently.
Sheppard licked his lips as he closed his eyes, and whispered a pathetic, "Sorry."
His breathing soon evened, and I stood there feeling completely wiped out. Sheppard looked a mess, and I knew he wasn't just going to walk away from this.
I also knew I wasn't going to either. I'd weathered my first gun shot wound incredibly well, but I knew my emotional wounds were much deeper and raw. Looking at Sheppard I realised we both needed to do a lot of healing, and I just hoped that I would show as much bravery in my recovery as Sheppard would inevitably show in his.
Tbc.