Chapter Three.

The concluding chapter has arrived. I hope you enjoy. Thanks to my beta, Kodiak for her fantastic skills!

John was confused and frightened. He felt as if he were burning up. His head pounded, and he couldn't breathe – he was choking. Something was stuck in his throat, and he instantly knew that he was suffocating. Instinct took over, and he clumsily lifted his arm to remove whatever was blocking his airway. He felt his hand being pushed away, and tried unsuccessfully to fight the weight holding it down. Thrashing around in panic, John was vaguely aware of distant voices - Carson and Elizabeth? He couldn't make out what they were saying, but why weren't they helping him? They were obviously nearby, and surely knew what was happening to him. John tried to shout, to tell them that he needed them, but his voice wouldn't co-operate, and he ended up gagging more violently than before. Just as he thought the end was in sight, he felt a cooling numbness wash through his veins. Suddenly nothing mattered anymore, and he happily drifted into the warm darkness he saw ahead.

-oOo-

"That's a good sign, isn't it?" Elizabeth looked nervously at Carson.

The doctor smiled encouragingly back at Atlantis' leader.

"Aye. He's making a good respiratory effort. It's too early for him to come off the vent, though, so I've sedated him again. His sats aren't good enough and I don't want to extubate him just to have to put him back on again. But – this is an encouraging sign."

Elizabeth smiled for the first time that day.

"How's Rodney? I wanted to see him, but the nurse explained I couldn't expose myself to the virus he's fighting and then come visit John."

Carson chuckled.

"Oh, he's still dying, and suffering the worst head cold ever endured by mankind – and don't we all know about it." Carson patted Elizabeth on the arm. "He's fine, love. I think he's a wee bit jealous that the colonel's hogging the limelight again – and getting the good drugs."

Weir sighed. "John does seem to do that. Though he hates all the fussing we throw at him."

Carson smiled warmly. "Aye, that he does. Well, you've seen him for yourself and can see he's weathering the storm." Carson gestured with his arm for Elizabeth to leave the isolation room. Removing protective clothing and masks, the two exited, and Beckett smiled as he saw Weir turn round to look at the unconscious colonel one more time.

"I think he'll be fine, really," he assured the worried woman.

Elizabeth smiled sadly. "I know. I just can't believe how close we came to losing him – again. He just attracts so much trouble."

"I know. He's a survivor, Elizabeth. Don't underestimate him." Carson studied Weir carefully. "I suggest you get some rest, you look exhausted. I don't want you coming down with something as well. I really don't think I could cope with any more patients right now."

Weir nodded. "Yes, Sir. You'll let me know…"

Carson interrupted Elizabeth. "Aye. Now off you go – unless you fancy a little sedation?"

"I'm already gone."

-oOo-

Twenty-four hours later and John was off the vent, though his fever was still raging. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and the soggy white infirmary sheet stuck to his naked lower body. A fan blew cool air over his scorched, bare torso, and arms, but he felt little relief. He'd woken up to a sore throat, pounding head and an overwhelming weakness. He discovered he couldn't even move his limp hand to scratch his nose, which had been irritated by the dreaded nasal cannula. Groaning inwardly, as he didn't have enough strength to even use his voice, he let his eyes focus on his surroundings. He took in the small, white, bare room. Around his bed were the usual monitors, and he grimaced as he saw three IV lines dotted around his body. He also felt the intrusion of the catheter. He wondered if things could possibly be any worse.

The noise of the door opening caused John to slowly, yet excruciatingly, turn his head. He panted as his head throbbed mercilessly, and his vision momentarily greyed out. Shutting his eyes to quell the sudden rise of nausea, he sighed as his pain suddenly diminished to a tolerable level.

"That should make you feel a little better, Colonel." Beckett's voice filtered into John's foggy brain. "Don't try and talk, just listen. You've been very sick, but are over the worst now. I know it probably doesn't feel like that, but you'll have to take my word for it." Carson checked John's IV lines. "I've given you something for the pain, and if you like, you can have an ice chip. Blink if you'd like one."

It took every ounce of concentration for John to comply with the simple command. He dutifully blinked, and inwardly sighed as the frozen water was placed between his dry lips. He parted them eagerly, being able to at least do that without too much effort. As the water trickled down his raw throat, John closed his eyes in bliss. He opened them slowly, and hoped his face conveyed his gratitude.

"You're most welcome. I know you'll be fretting about Rodney. Don't worry, he's fine. He's got a head cold, but can't see you, as I don't want you to contract his virus. Your immune system's not very happy at the moment, so you're in isolation until it recovers. You're doing incredibly well, and improving every hour."

John thought Carson's statement had to be somewhat inaccurate, as he didn't feel like he was doing so well. He dreaded to think what he must have been like previously if he was improving rapidly.

"Hot," he managed to croak out.

"I know," Carson soothed as he took a washcloth from a basin of water next to John's bed, and proceeded to gently sponge down the burning colonel. "I've given you some fever reducing medicine too, but nothing seems to be helping." Carson smiled apologetically. "If it's any consolation, you're a lot cooler than you were yesterday."

Sheppard inwardly thought it would be impossible to be any hotter than he felt at that moment, but nodded weakly in understanding.

"I'll get Melissa to carry on sponging you down. Try and get some sleep."

John closed his eyes, and let the fuzzy numbness over-take him.

When John next opened his eyes, he was surprised to find Teyla's head resting to the side of him on the edge of his bed. He smiled as he realised her hand was loosely holding his. He relished her cool touch, but had to admit he actually felt a little cooler than the last time he woke up.

"Hey," he whispered, swallowing to lubricate his angry, raw throat.

Teyla jerked awake, and composing herself, smiled warmly at John.

"How are you feeling? Would you like a sip of water?" she asked, as she reached for a glass with a straw in it, from the nightstand.

"Please," John answered longingly, as Teyla raised the head of his bed.

As he drank from the straw, John's throat hummed with delight as the liquid slipped easily down.

"That is enough. Carson said you may only have small sips," she warned the colonel.

Sheppard nodded carefully.

"I know. Thanks."

John looked down at himself and was relieved to see he was dressed in a loose hospital gown. Not exactly his choice of dress, but the loose garment was better than being naked in front of Teyla.

Teyla scrutinised John's features.

"I believe your face has more colour in it than it did yesterday. Are you feeling better?"

John considered Teyla's question before answering. Taking stock of his aches and pains, fever and general malaise, he grinned. "Much better, thanks. How's Rodney?"

The Athosian winced, then smiled.

"He was released from the infirmary last night under protest. He maintains he should not have been allowed to return to his quarters, as he still needed 'the good drugs'," Teyla laughed. "Carson believes him to be jealous of you."

John frowned in confusion.

"Why would he be jealous of me?"

Teyla chuckled softly.

"Rodney believes you are – favoured, here in the infirmary."

Sheppard shook his head carefully, wincing when his head warned him not to repeat that manoeuvre anytime soon. "I realise I'm not at my best right now – but - you've lost me," he answered in a baffled voice.

"I am sorry to have confused you, John. Rodney believes Carson and the nurses like you better than him. He has convinced himself they give you better care – and more potent medicines." Teyla's rich, mellow laugh filled the small room.

John snorted. "Only Rodney. I'd swap places with him any day. Not that I could even sit up by myself at the moment."

Teyla's face suddenly became serious.

"We nearly lost you, again. You will be fine – in time, but you are weak and must rest." Teyla's face brightened. "Carson asked me to tell you that you can come out of isolation tomorrow, if you continue to improve. He also said your 'immune system' is 'on the mend'." Teyla hesitated as she repeated the unfamiliar phrases.

John smiled sarcastically.

"Great. Did he say how long I'm going to be incarcerated this time?"

Teyla raised her eyebrows. "You must be feeling better if you want to 'escape from Dodge' already."

John laughed softly.

"Yeah, I am."

John yawned as he suddenly felt an overwhelming tiredness envelop him.

Teyla brushed away a small lock of wayward hair that was stuck to Sheppard's damp forehead.

"You should rest. I will watch you while you sleep," she promised.

John snuggled down sleepily into his bed.

"'Kay. Thanks, Teyla." He yawned a second time, and contentedly closed his eyes.

-oOo-

Twenty-four hours later, and John was unhappily lying in his infirmary bed in the main ward. Carson had explained that his immune system was now only a fraction below normal, and that he was progressing well, and hoped to start him on some light food later that day. John was delighted to lose the catheter, and two of his IV's, but not so pleased at how long it took him to get to the bathroom, supported by nurses or Beckett. John vowed to drink less, so he wouldn't need to pee so often. The last trip to the bathroom had taken twenty minutes, and he'd returned to bed with legs like rubber, and a pounding head.

"Colonel? How are we today?"

Rodney's voice interrupted John's morose musings.

"Like a washed out dish rag. You sound better," John remarked.

McKay nodded.

"Yes, I've recovered remarkably well. Carson gave me the okay to visit you, in case you're worried I'm going to infect you."

John snorted.

"I'm not the one usually whining about other people's germs, Rodney."

Rodney scowled.

"Are you insinuating I'm a hypochondriac?" he asked in an affronted voice.

John scoffed. "I'm not insinuating anything. It's not exactly a secret, after all…"

"Ha, ha! I'm glad the high fever and abundance of bacteria didn't scramble your sense of humour – though it may have been a blessing for us all if they had." McKay's attention was drawn to Zelenka who was carrying a tray. "Ah. Here's our jello. Blue for you and red for me." Rodney reached out and smiled as he took the tray from the Radek, who greeted the colonel and promptly left. Passing the dish of blue jello and a spoon to Sheppard, he started to demolish his own dessert.

"Eat up. Carson said you could have it, and I know how much you love jello," Rodney mumbled through a mouth full of red gloop.

John swallowed.

"Er, I don't think I could stomach it at the moment, thanks."

McKay put his spoon in his dish.

"If you don't eat it, he'll stick another IV line back in, or worse, he'll make you drink protein shakes like last time," he warned.

John's forehead creased in confusion.

"Carson did not make me drink protein shakes. I was a good boy and ate everything he gave me," John pouted.

Rodney considered John's words, and exhaled.

"Well, he threatened you with shakes. Eat up," he cajoled.

Sheppard grimaced as he studied the brightly coloured gelatine.

"Okay. But don't blame me if it comes back up," he warned.

McKay snorted.

"Don't be ridiculous, not even you could throw precious jello back up, and you have no idea who I had to bribe to get you the blue kind. So stop whining and swallow."

Rodney picked his spoon back up, and started to eat his own jello, making sighing noises to encourage John to follow suit.

By his sixth spoonful, John was starting to regret his attempt to ingest Rodney's magnanimous gift. He dropped the spoon suddenly as a wave of nausea hit him.

Clasping his hand over his mouth he frantically tried to attract Rodney's attention, while precariously holding on to the glass dessert dish. The physicist was too busy gulping down his own dessert while simultaneously complaining about Carson's stinginess with narcotics during his recent infirmary stay.

Realising that John had stopped eating, Rodney put his own jello down on a nearby table and leaned towards Sheppard, just in time for John to throw up everywhere. The blue dessert splattered down the front of McKay's uniform, and all over the bed, just as Carson approached.

The doctor shook his head, and retrieved an emesis basin, which he promptly thrust under Sheppard's chin.

Looking at Rodney, Carson pursed his lips.

"I thought I told you the colonel was to have no jello until this afternoon, and even then just a spoonful to start with," Beckett chastised.

Ignoring Carson, McKay cast daggers at the heaving Sheppard.

"You just had to go and do it again, didn't you?" he asked in an irate voice. "This makes it three times you've thrown up on me." Rodney looked at his jacket and shirt in disgust. "I thought we agreed no more puking? Did I miss something when you promised that? Were you crossing your fingers behind your back? I'll never get this wretched stuff off my jacket. This was my second favourite one, too. Of course, you already ruined my favourite one during the appendix fiasco. Did I tell you I hate you?"

Sheppard flopped down in his bed as Carson wiped his mouth.

"We'd better get you cleaned up colonel. Poor Lad." Turning his head to reproachfully meet Rodney's gaze, Carson smiled. "Well, at least jello doesn't smell as bad as regurgitated toast or oatmeal. You should at least be thankful for that."

"Oh, I feel so much better now, Carson. Thank you for that," he replied sarcastically.

Turning to Sheppard, Rodney scowled again.

"You owe me big time, Sheppard. Once is a mistake, twice is careless, but three times is downright irresponsible. To think I diligently and lovingly sponged you down, while you were half-naked, against my better judgement…"

"Rodney? I'm sorry, okay?" John ground out. "I tried to tell you I didn't feel up to eating anything, and I tried to tell you I was going to puke, but as usual you weren't paying attention." John smiled wickedly. "As for sponging me down. Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Carson told me earlier how much you appreciated my muscular, toned body. I have to admit I'm flattered, and had no idea you felt that way…"

Rodney took one look at Sheppard's face, and stood, spun round and high-tailed it out of the infirmary.

Carson and John both howled with laughter.

"That was extremely uncharitable, Colonel," he scolded.

John held his stomach as his aching muscles complained.

"Yeah, I know. I'll apologise later. I just couldn't resist. Though strangely enough, I did really imagine he was enjoying my little show. It's amazing what a fever will do to you…" he mused.

Carson chuckled.

"Aye, it is. You must stop doing this, Colonel. You're sending me prematurely grey, you know."

John winced.

"Yeah, sorry, Doc. I won't do it again, I promise."

Carson snorted.

"I've heard that before Colonel. I'll go and find Rodney, and send him back to you. He'll be demanding valium next…"

John smiled as Melissa approached with a clean scrub shirt, and new bedding, wheeling a trolley with water, soap and towels on it.

"I hear you went and did it again, Colonel?" she teased.

John groaned.

"Story of my life, I'm afraid."

The end.