Rodney regards Dr Beckett with a mixture of disbelief and barely-concealed impatience as the doctor questions he, Teyla and Ronon about whether they had noticed Colonel Sheppard scratch his leg on anything over the past few days.
He can't hold back the scorn from his voice as he replies, caustically, "Surprisingly enough, Carson, we don't supervise the Colonel's every move – how the hell are we supposed to know how he got a tiny scratch on his leg? He could have gotten it at any time and anywhere!"
Teyla, as usual, plays mediator and Rodney is not blind to the look of gratitude Beckett shoots her as she intercedes.
"I am sure Dr Beckett is aware of that, Rodney. Perhaps he means to ask if we have been in any situation recently where the Colonel may have gained such an injury, or if the Colonel has mentioned such a wound to any of us?" She directs her comments as much to Beckett as to himself, her expression inviting his confirmation, and Carson nods gratefully.
Rodney sighs heavily. Patience is not his strong suit at the best of times – and the best of times does not include hanging around outside the infirmary, having been summarily informed that Colonel Sheppard has suddenly collapsed, being questioned about trivialities while the Colonel lies in god knows what condition with only Carson's team of voodoo practitioners to look after him. Rodney hates not knowing what's going on. Being out of the information loop makes Rodney anxious and anxiety makes him snappy. He wants to see the Colonel, to see for himself what is going on.
"Do you realise who you are talking about, Carson?" he demands, his tone deliberately patronising. "This is Colonel Sheppard; the man who would tell you he was "good" if his leg was falling off. What makes you think he would mention a scratch to anyone? We've been in a thousand situations where he could have cut himself on something – he could have done it on something here on Atlantis for all we know – but the chances that he would hop around shouting "Ow " over a scratch are slim to non-existent!"
"I'm aware of that, Rodney." Carson's voice is tinged with exasperation, and no small amount of his own brand of sarcasm. "I 'm just trying to ascertain if any of you noticed anything, that's all. I know it's unlikely but I've got to examine every avenue here."
Beckett gives them a look that speaks volumes. "I've a much better chance of treating this fever if I know precisely what infection is causing it."
That serious look on Beckett's face gives Rodney pause, dispelling his growing disdain in an instant. Instead he feels the beginnings of panic fluttering in his stomach. "Wait a minute.. I mean, how serious is this?" His voice cracks a little and he juts his chin defiantly, daring anyone to comment. "You said it was just a wee.. I mean, a little fever!"
He detests the compassion on Beckett's face, resents being humoured or treated as if he's going to panic over the slightest damn thing. Just because he's not.. not stoic like Ronon or eternally calm like Teyla.
"Aye Rodney, but a fever can have some serious consequences if it goes on too long or if we can't bring his temperature down."
"Oh." He can't find anything else to say.
"We've drawn some bloods and taken a swab of the infection site. Hopefully the results will tell us more."
He can tell Carson is winding up his explanations, preparing to dismiss them with his standard promises to let them know if anything changes. He interrupts.
"Can we see him?"
Carson frowns. "There's not much to see, Rodney. He's not really awake as such.." His voice trails off as he looks round at the expectant faces, the beginnings of a rueful smile on his face as he relents.
"Alright then, just for a few minutes."
They all file into the infirmary in an orderly fashion and Rodney wonders if the others are as impatient and as nervous as he. He quickens his pace and makes sure he's at the front of the small crowd as they reach Sheppard's bed.
Carson was right. He's not really awake. But he's not really asleep either. The Colonel is shivering despite the blankets pulled up to his chest. His head tosses and turns on the sweat-soaked pillow, his limbs twitch and jerk as he moves restlessly. He sighs and moans quietly, his lips moving almost soundlessly as he mumbles half-formed words under his breath. A frown creases his forehead. Awake or not, Colonel Sheppard looks distinctly uncomfortable. Rodney's heart sinks. He looks around at the faces of his team-mates arrayed around the bed and sees his own concerns mirrored in their expressions.
This "wee fever" doesn't look good at all.