Bit of a shorter than usual chapter this time – I was going to split this chapter into several POV's but I started with Elizabeth's and it just got away from me! lol
Hence I've decided to leave it as just her POV and move the story on in the next chapter. Hope you like it – bit of McKay whumpage in this one... but fear not, the Shep whumpage will be back with a vengeance in Chapter 5!
Oh yeah... and the evil cliffhanger from hell? Yup, it's back... sorry!
Reviews? Yes please!
Dr Weir was waiting anxiously outside the infirmary when the trauma team brought John in. For a few brief moments everything was chaos and movement; tense voices shouting orders and stats, a confusing babble of voices talking over one another, the daunting medical jargon striking fear into her heart – hypotensive, haemorrhage, respiratory distress – beeps and squawks of monitors; outstretched arms holding bags of fluid high in the air; the corridor resounding to the pounding of feet as the team rushed past her, the medical staff clustered together, reaching over and around each other to do their jobs... and in the eye of the storm the too still, too pale form of Colonel Sheppard, a crumpled a mess of wires and tubes and blood.
She stood helplessly as the commotion spun past her, her eyes catching Beckett's gaze for a split second even as he continued calling out instructions to his team. A brief moment of wordless communication and then the tide of frantic activity ripped them apart, carrying Carson along with it as the trauma team swept through the open infirmary doors. Trailing behind the chaos surrounding John's litter came a dusty, battle-weary ghost in the form of Dr Rodney McKay. The head of Atlantis' science teams stumbled along woodenly, a nurse hovering at his side, his attention fixed solely on the ongoing battle to keep John alive.
"Rodney.."
Elizabeth's blood ran cold in her veins as McKay numbly dragged his gaze away from the press of bodies in front of him – the eyes that met hers were hollow, shell-shocked, an expression of utter misery on his usually confident face. Rodney looked exhausted, his steps mechanical, as though sheer willpower was the only thing keeping him going. His skin was pale and waxy beneath a covering of soot and dust and the tightness around his eyes spoke of pain and worry.
"Elizabeth.." The usual McKay arrogance was missing from his voice, replaced by a bone-tired weariness.
The nurse who accompanied was brisk and business-like, her attention focused solely on her patient. Her voice was gentle but firm as she interrupted, "I'm sorry Dr Weir, but we need to get to Dr McKay to the infirmary. He has a possible concussion..."
Elizabeth's eyes were drawn to the swollen lump on Rodney's forehead, the skin already beginning to discolour. She couldn't help but notice the smears of blood darkening and drying on the left side of his face. Her throat tightened as concern for McKay swelled the desperate fear that had roiled in her stomach since they had first felt the muffled shudder that shook the city, the fear that had squeezed around her heart as power had failed near the science labs and they had tried and failed to contact two members of her closest staff.
"You're bleeding. Are you...?" she swallowed her hesitant question before it was completed. Stupid, stupid question, she berated herself. Of course he wasn't okay. She forced a degree of calmness she didn't feel into her voice as she turned her attention to the nurse, "How serious is his head wound?"
The nurse looked nonplussed for a moment and Rodney's steps faltered as his brow furrowed in confusion. He came to a halt in the infirmary doorway, the nurse hovering in concern as he turned back to Dr Weir.
"Bleeding?" he queried, a hint of the normal McKay paranoia breaking through the shock and fatigue as his ingrained hypochondria surfaced. His shoulders straightened slightly as he dredged up a last reserve of energy from who knew where, comprehension flitting across his features as he followed Elizabeth's concerned gaze and belatedly realised she was referring to his face. Moving slowly, as if in a daze, he unconsciously raised a hand to his face, mumbling absently, "No, no, it's not mine... it's.. I had to fix the radio..."
Elizabeth's sharp intake of breath seemed to break his train of thought and he dropped his gaze to his raised hand, a sick expression draining what little colour remained from his cheeks. She was frozen, unable to tear her gaze from the blood that coated both his hands. They were slick with it, red with it, crusted and dried with it. More blood than she could ever envision flowing from one frail, all-too-human body. John's blood.
McKay seemed to sway where he stood, the nurse reaching quickly to support him with a hand under his elbow. "Dr McKay!" She was turning him back towards the infirmary even as she spoke over her shoulder.
"I'm sorry Dr Weir, but I really need to get Dr McKay examined..."
Elizabeth nodded quickly.
"Of course. I'm sorry.." Her voice sounded thin and too high and she swallowed, her mouth suddenly too dry.
A reverberating crash sounded from within the infirmary and Elizabeth started at the noise, her gaze drawn back to Beckett's trauma team as they moved in an intricate, urgent dance around the gurney where John had been laid. Voices were raised as an alarm began to whine shrilly and Elizabeth's heart dropped like a stone. McKay stumbled forward desperately and the nurse tried to smile reassuringly as she moved to follow him.
"I'm sorry," she apologised hurriedly. "We'll let you know as soon as we have any news."
She grabbed McKay's arm and steered him firmly towards a nearby exam bed. With a soft "hush" the ornate doors slid shut behind them, cutting them off from view.
The last thing Elizabeth heard before the doors sealed on the chaos within was Carson's voice raised in desperation, "We're losing him!"
TBC...