Ooops. Yet again this story has fooled me into thinking I could finish it… only to twist and turn on me and end up requiring just one more chapter! Ah well…
Plenty of Shep whumpage in this one – basted lightly in "naked Sheppy under a sheet" and with a pinch of McKay angst thrown in for good measure. Bake slowly on a medium heat and serve with a side order of woozy, delirious Shep. :)
You may also notice that the cliffie bunny put in one last surprise appearance on this one! Sorry bout that!
Next – and final, honestly! – chapter to follow as soon as possible. Please review and give me your thoughts!
Sheppard was vaguely aware of motion. He woozily realised that he was still lying down.. and yet he couldn't shake the sensation of motion, of air moving past him as he travelled. He felt hot, his head was pounding, his mouth dry. He wanted to open his eyes but couldn't seem to dredge up the energy. Voices buzzed in his ears, oddly muffled, the words floating over him and around him as he travelled without moving. Consciousness was a thin thread that slipped through his fingers. He tried to grasp it but it unravelled in his hands and he slipped into darkness.
He was cold. He could feel his body shivering but couldn't seem to stop the motion, couldn't make his muscles stop trembling. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, his thoughts tangled and disjointed. His body felt heavy, his limbs weak and limp. He was so cold. He struggled to move and was rewarded with a sudden rush of pain that washed over him, drawing the breath from him in an involuntary gasp. The sensation left him dizzy, his head reeling. Through the buzzing in his ears he became aware of voices, their words indistinct, and something damp and cool was placed against his forehead. He flinched away from that cold touch, the shivering intensifying in his aching muscles, and tried to move a hand to his face. A firm grip held his arm in place and he moaned in frustration as he struggled to break free, his weak body betraying him. He twisted restlessly, crying out at the fresh wave of pain that flowed through him. The voices were louder now, talking back and forth across him, talking to him? He couldn't make out the words, couldn't concentrate, couldn't stop himself from shivering and trembling and hurting. And then what little energy he had was stolen from him, a slow lethargy creeping over him, numbing sensation, dulling the pain, pushing him back down into darkness.
Carson let out an exhausted sigh as he practically collapsed into his office chair. A glance at his watch told him it was long after midnight – making it two nights in a row that he had gotten no more than a snatched hour or two of sleep. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. They felt gritty and dry. He sighed again, sliding further down into the chair. Maybe he'd just rest his eyes for a minute.
He started awake as the door slid open with its characteristic sigh, pushing himself stiffly upright with a groan and raising a slow hand to rub at his aching neck. Elizabeth peeked around the doorway with an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, "I didn't mean to disturb you. I was just wondering.."
He knew full well what she had been wondering, knew why she too was still awake at this hour. He checked his watch. 3.40am. He'd been asleep for 12 minutes.
He shook his head sadly. "There's still no change, lass," he informed her regretfully, his keen physician's eye taking in the strain on her face, the shadows under her eyes. "You really should get some rest," he admonished. "I'll let you know as soon as there's any improvement."
They shared a brief smile at the defiant optimism of that statement, both of them unwilling to admit to the possibility that the situation would do anything other than improve.
"Can I see him?"
Carson hesitated, his instincts as a doctor telling him that Dr Weir should be in bed getting some much-needed rest, but common sense told him that she wouldn't go to bed even if he threw her out of the infirmary. And he wasn't really in a position to lecture her on that front, given the amount of time he'd spent in here himself recently. Realistically he knew he should probably have taken a proper break, let his staff deal with things for a while – they were all well-trained and excellent at their jobs, that was why he'd picked them after all – but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt the same fear and concern as Elizabeth, the same need to personally make sure that his patient was being looked after. He sighed. They were as bad as each other.
He rose stiffly from the chair and, with a gesture for Elizabeth to precede him, walked tiredly back into the main infirmary, moving almost without conscious thought to the bedside where he had spent most of the last 56 hours. Dr Weir hesitated outside the privacy curtains and he stepped past her, slipping through the narrow gap and, after a quick glance, turning back to indicate that it was okay for her to follow. The nurse on duty spared him a quick smile as she worked and, as Elizabeth joined him, the two of them stood silent and sombre, gazing down at their friend.
Colonel Sheppard looked awful.
He was frighteningly pale, save for a high flush of unnatural colour on his cheeks. His too-white skin was bathed in sweat, moisture sticking his hair damply to his forehead and temples, and, even under heavy sedation and IV painkillers, he stirred restlessly, his head tossing on the sweat-soaked pillow, half-formed words mumbled on his lips. Carson saw Elizabeth's lips tighten as her eyes fell on the soft restraints at his wrists. He liked it no better than she but they'd had no other choice. The Colonel was delirious with fever, restless and agitated even though sedated, and had pulled out two IVs before they'd reluctantly agreed to the need for restraints. Even as Carson watched, John's arms pulled tightly at their bindings and he moaned in his delirium. The nurse leant over him, muttering soothing nothings as she pressed a damp cloth to his forehead, trying to calm him. A shudder wracked Sheppard's pale, thin body and he flinched away from the cool cloth.
"His temperature is still dangerously high," Carson murmured, instinctively lowering his voice so as not to disturb his patient, even though John was sedated. "We've tried every antibiotic we have but nothing seems to be effective against this infection."
He sighed, turning his gaze to Elizabeth. "All we can really do now is wait," he told her honestly.
"Unless the antibiotics start to work, the cold sponging is the only thing we can do to try and bring his temperature down," he gestured at the nurse who was carefully wringing out a cloth soaked in tepid water "and other than that we just have to wait and hope the fever will break."
Elizabeth nodded silently, her face tight as she stood and regarded the dreadful injuries that had come close to taking the life of her chief military officer – that still might if his fever could not be controlled. The shallow claw marks across John's rib cage stood out vividly, red and angry, against the unnatural paleness of his skin. A fresh dressing was taped securely over the cleaned and stitched wounds on his right upper arm and his left thigh was heavily bandaged. The sheets beneath him were damp with sweat and the nurse on night duty was carefully and methodically bathing his over-heated skin, soaking her cloth in a bowl of lukewarm water and wringing it out, wiping it across his chest, down his arms, along his legs; anything to try and leech the heat from his feverish body. He lay weak and shivering on the infirmary bed, covered only by a thin sheet, his chest and legs bare as the nurse worked to bring his temperature down.
Carson watched helplessly as Elizabeth visibly struggled to contain her fear. Though none of them wanted to admit it, there was a very real chance that they could lose him.
"What about his leg?" she asked in a small voice.
Ah yes, the leg. The injury that had started all this. The leg had been Carson's main concern as he had rushed the Colonel from the jumper bay straight into surgery. The wounds had been deep and messy and had bled profusely; Sheppard had needed multiple transfusions to replace the blood volume he had lost and Carson and his team had worked for hours to repair the damage, suturing torn flesh, repairing damaged veins and arteries, working to restore proper blood flow and mend damaged muscle. It had been hard work but they'd done well and Carson had been pleased with the results. He'd thought that was the worst of it, the broad-spectrum antibiotics almost an afterthought, a sensible precaution given what seemed like a low-grade fever and the possibility of infection when dealing with animal bites. Since then, as the Colonel's fever had worsened and progressed, they had tried every antibiotic they had and nothing seemed to touch the infection, nothing was able to stop Colonel Sheppard's rapidly rising temperature. If this went on much longer, the Colonel was at risk of seizures, of organ failure. Right now, the leg wound was the least of his worries.
"He came through surgery well," Carson reassured quietly. "He lost a lot of blood but we managed to repair the damage. He'll have a few nasty scars, that's for sure, and will need some physical therapy but he should regain his full range of motion without too much trouble."
They stood in silence, watching John toss and mutter in his fever dreams, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air - if he survives.
The quiet was broken by a rather deliberate cough from the other side of the privacy curtain. Carson sighed but was unable to prevent a small smile from curving his lips. "Yes, Rodney?" he called, without bothering to look.
"Oh. Uh, is it okay to.? Umm, can I come in?" The scientist's voice was quiet, far from his usual self-confident tone. Carson looked to Elizabeth and she nodded in understanding.
"I should go." Carson placed a hand on her shoulder and she smiled at him gratefully. "You'll keep me informed?"
"Of course, lass."
Rodney was hovering as Elizabeth stepped outside the privacy curtain, Carson close behind her. She knew the scientist had been spending almost as much time in the infirmary as Carson had. All of Sheppard's team were worried for him, and Teyla and Ronon had spent their share of hours sitting by the Colonel's bedside, but McKay in particular seemed to take Colonel Sheppard's illness personally, feeling in some way responsible because he had left him there in the forest, following Sheppard's orders to go for help.
Elizabeth had done her best to reassure Rodney, reiterating that if he and Teyla had not returned to Atlantis as ordered, Sheppard would almost certainly have died on the jungle planet, very probably the whole team in fact, but he refused to be consoled, the burden of self-imposed guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders. Sometimes it was too easy to forget that, unlike the rest of his team, Rodney was not a warrior, not a soldier. He had not lived with the constant threat of violence as had Ronon and Teyla, had never been trained in combat like Sheppard, had never expected to be faced with danger and injury and death so often and so intimately. Seeing his friend so badly injured and being forced to walk away from him, to leave him behind, even if doing so were to save his life, had been hard on McKay.
His eyes were shadowed as he nodded briefly to Elizabeth. "Any change?"
She shook her head and Carson watched Rodney deflate slightly, a spark of hope dying in his eyes.
"Can I see him?" McKay echoed Dr Weir's question of just moments before and Carson nodded gently, gesturing Rodney forward even as Elizabeth turned to leave, no doubt to return to her office and try to occupy her mind with paperwork until the dayshift started. She had barely taken a step when the nurse's voice, high and panicked, interrupted them.
"Dr Beckett!"
Carson spun quickly, Elizabeth and Rodney forgotten, and raced back to Sheppard's bedside, his heart dropping at the sight that greeted him. Colonel Sheppard was stiff as a board, every muscle taught with tension, his entire body trembling minutely. Time seemed to stand still for a minute and Carson was vaguely aware of Elizabeth and Rodney pushing through the privacy curtain behind him, a note of profound despair in McKay's voice as he breathed out, "Oh no…"
Then all was noise and chaos as Sheppard's body began to jerk violently, his muscles spasming helplessly, legs twitching, back arching, his arms pulling at the restraints. The bed rattled and shook with the ferocity of his movements as Carson grabbed hold of the shaking man's shoulders, trying to hold the Colonel still as he frantically shouted his orders to the nurse.
"He's seizing! Get me 5mg of Ativan, stat!"
TBC…
