Chapter Nine
He was greeted by the sight of a wrung out Sheppard lying against the pillows, sweat pouring off his face, red eyes, a nurse carrying away the sealed container, and Jacobson trying to force more ipecac down Sheppard's throat.
Predictably, Sheppard was adamant about refusing the second dose. He turned his head away from Jacobson and flatly refused to open his mouth, even with Jacobson trying to get his jaw open.
"What in the hell is going on!"
Jacobson stopped what he was doing, calmly began filling in Carson. "We need to be sure we got everything. That means a second dose."
"No signs of dry retching?"
"No, he was vomiting those things right up until he stopped."
Unfortunately Jacobson had a point. He didn't like it, but in the name of medicine, Carson was often forced to hurt in the name of a cure. That was the main reason doctors, like soldiers, found themselves inured to the misery of those around them.
He took the syringe off Jacobson and approached Sheppard.
"I know you don't need to hear this, but I'm going to give you a second dose."
"I don't want it."
"No choice I'm afraid. You either swallow this voluntarily or we can insert an NG tube and force it down you. I'd prefer not to use the NG tube."
Sheppard gave Carson the filthiest look he could manage, and Carson felt like he always did when he was in ER situations - the most inhumane person in the galaxy. On the upside, Sheppard complied, and Carson was able to give him another thirty mils of ipecac and another bottle of water.
"I hate you Carson," said Sheppard.
"You can hate me all you want. In fact, I prefer you hated me while you kept living rather than like me up until you died of complications."
"Screw you."
With that, Sheppard turned his head again, and tried to ignore both men.
Beckett and Jacobson took the opportunity change into fresh gowns, noting through the OR windows that a hazmat team had hit sickbay and were swarming over every nook and cranny they could find, including the ever complaining Rodney.
Carson positioned himself back by Sheppard's side, along with Jacobson. A nurse arrived back with a fresh container, the inside sloshing with insecticide as they readied themselves. Waiting was always the hardest part.
As Sheppard began his second round of vomiting, compliments of the emetic, a lab assistant rushed into the OR.
"Dr. Beckett, we just did a smear on the Colonel's blood and you have got to see this."
Carson raised an eyebrow at Jacobson.
"Yeah, go ahead. I'll keep watch on puke duty."
"Thanks."
"You're going to owe me for this."
"I know."
Carson left, grateful to be away from a scene that reminded him of The Exorcist and followed the assistant into the labs connected to the OR, sat himself in front of the microscope and gasped at what he saw on the slide.
The lab assistant's sample had highlighted the fact that Sheppard's blood was populated with what appeared to be microscopic worms, happily swimming in between the red blood cells.
He squinted at the organism and wondered what in the hell he was looking at. At first glance they appeared to be some sort of nematode but the transparent worm didn't appear to have a gut or a central nervous system upon closer inspection. The only bug he'd ever managed to become an expert on was drosophila and that was only because they were the research animal of choice for genetics, and consequently he had no idea on how he should classify the parasite.
"This just gets worse and worse."
Still, it explained Sheppard's behavioral changes. Carson's immediate thought was that the worms had also managed to hitch a ride across the blood brain barrier and God knows what kind of damage they were doing. At the low end of the scale, it would be neurotransmitter manipulation, at the high end, cysts and cell destruction. Why the hell hadn't he read more about parasitic infection before going on the mission?
"Damn it!"
The lab assistant – he thought her name was Susan – gave him a startled look.
"I'm not yelling at you, love. Just at myself and those confounded little buggers under the microscope."
"What would you like me to do?"
"Start trying to find a drug that will kill them and can be taken internally."
"Any suggestions?"
"Try everything and anything, standard and non standard. Try and get some DNA out of them and pin down if they've got any cousins on Earth. That might help."
"You got it."
She didn't acknowledge Carson any further but hustled off to the supply room to gather what she would need to start her tests.
In the interim, sure he could nothing more in the lab, Carson went back to the OR to check on progress.
Sheppard was dry retching over an emesis bowl, a sign of an empty stomach and that served to cheer Carson slightly. He smiled to himself and found the smile wasn't returned from the Colonel. He stopped retching and laid back down again, looking miserable. Carson didn't need to ask, Jacobson was already there, with another loaded hypodermic.
"What'd you get?"
"Lorazepam. It'll keep him out for longer than the fentanyl."
Sheppard may have been exhausted but he could still hear.
"You are not sedating me."
Carson attempted a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Sorry about this, but I need to do another endocopsy. You'll be out for two hours. Don't worry, it's almost over."
Sheppard's face said it all. If he wasn't tied down he would have strangled both doctors then and there and Beckett wasn't sure that this entirely due to parasitic influence. Carson took the hypodermic, swabbed an arm and injected the contents.
Sheppard had enough time to get off a heart felt, "Get fucked". Then he sank into sedation. That task over with, they undid the restraints, checked he was under far enough to prevent him from making a run for it, rolled him and then Carson went back in with the endoscope for a second look. Jacobson rigged up a bag of saline to counteract the dehydration from the ipecac.
An empty stomach gave Carson a much clearer view of the damage.
"Crap."
Jacobson peered at the monitor. "Overly enthusiastic for parasites, I'll give them that."
It appeared the life cycle of the parasite involved a move from the blood stream and into the stomach by going through the stomach wall. Small holes, the diameter of a pencil, were dotted around the stomach. Some were healing, some still oozed enough blood to worry them both. The only positive note was that they seemed to have been organized in their perforations. Considering the number of egg sacs, Carson half expected the stomach to resemble a colander. Instead it seemed they had drilled about five or so entry wounds and followed each other in an orderly fashion.
Carson quickly filled in Jacobson on the worms he'd seen in Sheppard's blood sample.
Jacobson touched the monitor with one finger, tracing one of the holes as Carson maneuvered the camera. "Not enough to kill him. Yet."
"I'm going to cauterize the bleeders."
"Normally I'd say that was a great idea but this time I'm not so sure."
Carson was threading the cauterization instrument down the endoscopy tube, didn't bother to stop but he did reply. "And why don't you think it's a good idea?"
"Because he's still infected. How long do you think it's going to be before it starts all over again?"
"I have no idea but my main focus right now is to cure what I can see."
"Fair enough."
"I'm not going to leave him like this."
"I didn't say you should. Just that you're going to have to keep repeating the procedure until we figure out how to kill them."
"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."
"Okay. Sure. Just thinking out loud."
Carson ignored Jacobson for the rest of the process, concentrating instead on burning closed any remaining holes, and sealing off the leaks. Satisfied, he removed the endoscope, rolled Sheppard onto his back again, propped the bed back up.
Jacobson gestured at Sheppard with his thumb. "Forced vomiting, two endoscopies and cauterization. He's going to be uncomfortable when he wakes up."
"I know."
They stood looking at their patient for a few more seconds, and then a knock at the window of the OR frightened them half to death.
Rodney was standing outside in his hospital gown, holding a laptop and waving at them madly.
"I see your patient is up and about," said Carson.
Jacobson sniffed. " My patient? Who said anything about him being my patient? He looks high maintenance to me."
Beckett smiled at Rodney and waved back. "Go and see what he wants. I'll stay here with the Colonel. I want to make sure his vitals are good."
"Get a nurse to do it and you go see what he wants."
"I'd prefer to check the vitals myself."
"Fine."
Rodney started knocking again, gesturing, and pointing towards the door of the OR. Jacobson grinned.
"I think he wants to join us."
"Don't even think about it. I love Rodney dearly as a friend and fellow scientist but keep him out of here. I don't need him aggravating my patient. Or me for that matter."
Jacobson waved back at Rodney, gestured that he was coming out, started stripping off his gown and grabbing his coat. Carson grabbed a blood pressure cuff and hoped the cauterization and the units of whole blood had produced the desired effect.
((--))
Rodney wanted someone to talk to him and he was peeved that the someone was not Carson but the other guy. The one that had put him in a hospital gown in the first place. The one that seemed to find Rodney amusing.
"I wrote down everything I could think of about John's symptoms, just like Carson asked. Just the highlights mind you but if it's typical, it's about a one month progression from initial infection through to the sickness and then another week or so before he gets a compulsion to knock people out and throw them into water."
Jacobson took the laptop, intrigued despite it all. "How'd he get infected in the first place?"
"Those alien leeches. They were in the river."
"Huh."
"What's 'huh' mean?"
"They must go through some sort of secondary development stage in the stomach. Amazing."
"Personally I don't think of it so much as 'amazing' but more along the lines of, 'oh dear God'".
Jacobson seemed to be on a roll. "Presumably warm blooded animals are their primary host."
Rodney clicked his fingers, latching onto another idea. "Explains why there were no animals when we got there. Maybe they turned up when they were sure the danger had gone. The rain could have been a trigger. Maybe the rain changes the PH somehow, or the rise in river level forces them downstream."
As Rodney surmised some more on the life cycle, Jacobson walked back over towards the bed, Rodney in tow.
"Why don't you get back into bed, and I'll take these into Carson."
McKay blinked, surprised to be back where he started. Jacobson was good. "Oh. You know, I feel fine and I wanted to help."
"And help you did but I think after all you've been through, you deserve a break."
Rodney found himself being expertly guided back into bed. "I'm think I'm over having a break."
"Then think of it as a vacation. I'll make sure you get three meals in bed and I promise to ensure one of them comes with raspberry jello."
"A: I don't like jello and B: stop patronizing me."
"Then think of it this way. If you move again, we'll think you're under the influence of the insects and I'll have to strap you down."
Rodney did as he was told. "For a doctor, you're not that nice."
"The price of dealing with soldiers. They don't respond to nice, they respond to orders. You keep working on your laptop and I'll go tell Carson what you have so far."
Chastened, Rodney did what he was told. He'd had enough he decided. Enough of being pushed around by everyone. First Sheppard and now this Jacobson idiot.
No one appreciated him.
He winced. Great. He had a headache.
((--))
Sheppard came around in the afternoon, still strapped down, his throat felt like it was made of sandpaper, and his stomach felt like a drill instructor had forced him to do sit-ups for an entire morning.
Carson was sitting beside his bed, wearing a hang dog expression that Sheppard figured was an attempt at expressing sympathy. At this point in time, Sheppard felt an overwhelming urge to beat the expression right off the good doctor's face.
He swallowed, grimaced. An expression not unnoticed by Carson.
"Let me get you some ice chips. Not surprisingly your throat might be giving you some aggravation after the day you've had."
"You think?" His price for rasping out sarcasm was the sensation of little men with big razor blades sitting in his throat and slicing the flesh off his tonsils.
Carson lifted a cup, managed to maneuver an ice chip into Sheppard's mouth. Sheppard contemplated letting the ice melt and then spitting in Beckett's direction but dialing down the discomfort won out and instead he let the liquid slide down and try to drown the little men.
"John, I know you're not able to understand fully what's going on at the moment but we're working on a cure. And on the good side - although it's not much of a good side - the parasite is doing damage but it's going to take some time to kill you."
Right. He didn't understand fully. He didn't understand that Carson had more or less said that somehow being infected with parasites that weren't intent on killing him straight away was an upside to the situation. Besides which, he didn't believe Beckett. He'd been lied to before, betrayed before. Always for his own good and in his best interests but it never seemed to work out that way. In the end he was the one that always got burnt.
"Where's your offsider?" Sheppard winced again. Maybe he should just stop talking but for some reason he couldn't shut himself up.
"Doctor Jacobson is checking on Rodney."
Carson dug around in his lab coat pocket and pulled out a commercial foil pack of lozenges. He popped one, gave it to Sheppard.
"According to the packet it's lemon flavored, sugar free, anti-bacterial and a local anesthetic. It's been over six hours since your procedure so you should be okay."
Sheppard sucked on the lozenge, and figured it was about the only solid food he'd had in his mouth in over 24-hours. His stomach fussed as soon as he swallowed.
Irritated he jerked his right hand, pulling on the restraint. Tried to keep his tone pleasant but damned if the calm words he thought he was going to use didn't seem to get turned around on the way out of his mouth.
"If you let me go right now so I can go home, I might not kill you."
Carson, to his credit, tried not to look shocked.
"You're hardly in a position to kill me at the moment."
"Wanna bet?"
"I know you've been trained by the military to get out of all sorts of situations but I'm guessing a five point restraint isn't one of them."
Carson wheeled his stool back from Sheppard's bed side. Sheppard couldn't decide whether he scared the doctor or if it was an expression of the contempt he always knew lurked under that white coat. Yeah, finally the good doctor's true nature was coming out.
Was it that hard for Beckett to let him do what was needed? He just wanted to live out his life on the planet. He didn't mind that it was alone even. Frustrated, he crashed his head down against the pillows. A tiny voice, one that had almost disappeared, told him that right now, he was being an asshole. He ignored it.
"God, it always comes down to this. Everyone so damn sure they know what's best for me, that they understand the situation. No one ever asks me what the hell I want to do…" He was talking more to himself now.
He seemed to have piqued Carson's interest though. He wheeled himself back.
"You know, if I was sure you were in your right mind, I would tell Elizabeth to seriously consider your request. I might not agree with it, I wouldn't understand it, but I wouldn't think it was right to stop you."
"Yeah, well, excuse me if I don't believe you. It's never about the other person, it's all about the power. And hey, I'm military, I understand that. When you're in the military your life is not your own and I know how to take an order. But you know, since I got to Atlantis I kind of hoped some things had changed. No one giving me the evil eye 'cause I wasn't a good soldier boy doing what I was told, even if it meant I was doing something I regarded as immoral. Mind you, it's war. My Dad used to say to me - people start wars in the name of saving lives but it never works out that way. I never got what he meant until I got shipped out. Every dead soldier I saw was usually accompanied by dead civilians. There's something ironic about flying some kid who's had his limbs blown off to a military hospital about ten minutes after someone else in the same military dropped the bomb on him in the first place."
He was rambling now and he didn't know why because he didn't talk about this shit to anyone. No one got it, except for the people that had been there and he'd made a vow early on to shut his mouth and only open it with calculated glibness. Talking made it worse. Talking made the emotions come back and he'd fought hard to suppress them in the first place.
"Then again," he said in an attempt to take back what he'd just said. "I don't expect you to understand."
Beckett looked stunned and Sheppard figured he was never going to hear the end of it. Another reason to stay on the planet. Beckett would have a talk with Heightmeyer and she'd start prying. He'd always held the opinion that psychologists were just people who liked hearing gossip and tragedy so much they went to school and got a certificate so they could do it officially. He suspected Heightmeyer got off on hearing all about people's trauma. Maybe it made her own pitiful life seem better. The voice told him he'd just racked up asshole comment number two. He was going to have to stop thinking dire thoughts about the people he worked with.
"Colonel, I see people die all the time. It's not the same, I admit that. But that's my profession. I try to help my patients but it doesn't always work out that way. Sometimes people in the medical community make some crap decisions out of some pig headed need to be right. As a junior doctor it shocked me. I didn't expect to see registrars being fallible. I didn't expect doctor's to dismiss patients as complainers and send them off with a prescription for aspirin. I didn't expect to see my superiors vie for funding for some new piece of diagnostic equipment courtesy of the NHS because it made their resumes look good, rather than it might help someone. So I understand, believe me I understand more than you know."
From the expression on Beckett's face, it seemed that he did.
((--))
Rodney had decided that a ghost was haunting him. A ghost that was wearing combat boots on size 13 feet and weighed as much as a man. The ghost was currently dancing up and down on his head, making sure that the veins throbbed with obscene timing to his heart.
Jacobson was prattling on about something. Something that didn't interest Rodney any more.
"Hey McKay, you with me?"
Jacobson seemed to have noticed that he felt terrible. Rodney watched as Jacobson hauled out his penlight, and tried to shine it in McKay's eyes. That was the last thing he needed. Rodney batted the device away, sat up, tried to get out of bed.
He needed to go where there was peace and quiet. The planet was quiet. He could stay there. Maybe take some people with him. Start a community. He could work on his calculations all day. He'd need a laptop but it could run off a jumper's power just fine.
"McKay, you need to lie back down."
Except Jacobson was in his way and even if Rodney asked nicely, he doubted that Jacobson would want to join his happy band of survivalist scientists. That had a nice ring. Survivalist scientists. Maybe it was a t-shirt slogan.
"Survivalist scientists? What the hell are you talking about?"
Yeah, Jacobson was getting to be damned annoying and he was trying to push Rodney back into bed and a little voice in Rodney's head told him that in about thirty seconds Jacobson was going to panic. Then he'd either jab him with sedative or call for help, or more than likely – both.
There was only one solution for that. Rodney reached out and punched Jacobson square in the bridge of the nose, feeling it break beneath the blow. Definitely surprised both of them. Rodney because he didn't think he could ever hit hard enough to break someone's nose and Jacobson because blood was squirting all of his sparkling white lab coat.
Jacobson staggered back, then looked at Rodney, scared, and picked up the pace of his stagger, heading backwards to the nearest alarm call button.
Rodney, working on instinct, knew he had a limited number of moves. He could take Jacobson out entirely or make a run for it. The still geeky part of him wasn't into having a second crack at the doctor, so he opted for choice number two. Not a great choice considering he was in a hospital gown but still…
McKay turned and ran out the sickbay doors, hospital gown flapping.
To hell with personal dignity.
((--))
Carson had given up talking to Sheppard because the conversation was getting one sided. Mostly it had to do with getting back to the planet and alternated between a reasoned discourse on the advantages of self imposed isolation in a small group of like minded people – to which Carson interpreted as less like minded and more like infected – and how he was going to get out and break Carson's neck with his bare hands.
Seeing his friend and patient swing between bouts of calmness and murderous intent wasn't doing his own levels of anxiety any good.
He was just about to head back to the labs to check on progress when someone hit the alarm and he felt his already sky high heart rate go through the roof.
((--))
No one was more amazed at Rodney's new found abilities than Rodney. He wasn't exactly a total wimp but he wasn't a hero either. He'd pick up a gun but close his eyes when he shot at something. Or he'd take a swing and miss. During one fool hardy occasion he'd even attempted to get Teyla to train him in her fighting techniques and all he'd managed to do was hit himself with his stick. It was the kind of mishap that reduced even the intensely diplomatic Teyla to laughter.
Now that he had a big dose of macho he happily downed the first hapless soldier he came across, knocked him out cold and dragged him into the nearest empty service bay. The Daedalus was a big ship and in Rodney's new and lucky world, remarkably unpopulated.
He stripped the unconscious grunt, dressed himself in fatigues, thought it was cool how he'd managed to knock out a guy who was close to his height and weight. In Rodney's old world he would have punched out someone too tall, or too short, or a woman crew member. Hell it looked like they were even the same shoe size. As an added bonus he also had a Glock and a P90. Nice.
Adrenaline was flowing and Rodney felt super confident. If only Todd and all those other bastards who had tortured him his entire life could see him now. They wouldn't be so dismissive.
He'd get down to the hanger bay, steal a jumper, head back down. Maybe take a few guests along. Like the marine he'd just knocked out. And Sheppard. It'd be good to see the man sweat some because right now Rodney figured he was on an equal footing.
The same voice that had managed to get him out of sickbay told him it was stupid to go back for Sheppard. But the voice that wanted freedom and access to a river hadn't counted on the other voice. The one that was owned by Rodney's ego. The one that said it just wouldn't be a complete day without going back for Sheppard and making him eat every insult he'd ever uttered.
((--))