The Bad Luck Charm – Chapter 3

Elizabeth glanced around as she entered the infirmary, spotting John's bed almost immediately. Carson and Nick were helping the pilot into bed, shouldering most of his weight while a nurse held the covers back. Nick helped John as he rolled over onto his side while Carson managed the IV line and the nurse brought the blankets up to the sick man's chest. She watched for a few minutes as they talked to John and got him settled. Carson finally spotted her and said something to Nick before heading her way.

"How is he?" she asked when Carson was close enough. "Is it really food poisoning?"

The stubble on the doctor's face told her that Carson had been called back in during the night and had never left after that. His eyes were tired and his expression grim. "Aye, and a nasty case at that. He's got the normal symptoms for food poisoning, but they seem to be a bit extreme. Nothing we've done has given him any relief. He's been up and down every few minutes all night long. He can hardly stand."

Elizabeth frowned. "Are there any other cases?" She was already scanning the infirmary, but other than Sheppard, only two other beds were occupied. Half the base down with food poisoning would not be good.

"No, thank goodness. And there shouldn't be any more cases. We've isolated the cause. Apparently there was one helping of potato salad left from lunch yesterday and no one saw it when they cleaned up. The colonel got hold of it after it had set out all afternoon unrefrigerated. It's very odd though. No one else in the line last night saw the potato salad except for Colonel Sheppard."

"Have you asked him about it?" asked Elizabeth, thinking surely they had.

"Aye, he doesn't remember exactly where it was. Just remembers seeing it in the food line and grabbing it. He's been a wee bit too occupied to press the matter."

"Anything else odd about this?"

"His temperature is all over the place. It's common to have a fever and chills with food poisoning, but his temperature is up and then down and then back up again. I'm starting to wonder if the microbes that cause food poisoning in the Pegasus Galaxy aren't a might souped up compared to the Earth versions."

Elizabeth looked worriedly over Carson's shoulder to John, curled up in a tight ball as he lay on the infirmary bed. He looked small and frail from across the room. "He's going to be okay, isn't he?"

Carson nodded. "I think so, but he's going to be miserable for another few hours to a few days. I'm not sure how long the Pegasus variety lasts, but I hope it's not too much longer." Carson dared a small smile. "He's already asked me to shoot him three times."

Elizabeth nodded. "I've always heard if food poisoning doesn't kill you, it'll make you wish it did. Can I see him for a minute?"

"Aye, it might take his mind off things for a wee bit. Don't stay too long, though. He's exhausted."

Elizabeth walked over to John's bed and sat down in the chair beside it so she could see him better. He was still on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest, his eyes closed.

"John," she said softly, not wanting to wake him if he'd drifted off to sleep.

"Go away," he whispered.

"I will if you really want me to," she said.

John opened his eyes. "Oh . . . hey, Elizabeth. Thought you were the nurse wanting a pulse again."

"And you were going to show her your shining personality?" she said lightly, hoping to cheer him up.

John almost glared at her. "I've been up all night, watching my liquefied insides come spewing out my mouth . . . and other places . . . while gremlins tied my intestines into knots and used them for rope swings. You do all that with a smile on your face and then we'll talk." He clenched his knees more tightly to his chest and held his breath through the next wave of cramps, sweat popping out across his forehead.

Elizabeth leaned forward and found herself holding onto his hand, trying to offer reassurance when she knew there was none to be had. "I'm sorry, John. I wish I could do something."

John relaxed a little as the wave passed and the pain eased. He was panting lightly. "S'okay. Sorry . . . feel like crap."

"I know, and I'm sorry for teasing. I was trying to make you feel better. Guess I might as well give up on improving my bedside manner," she said as she patted his hand. That earned her a half smile on the pale, worn looking face.

"Nah, keep working on it. You'll get it eventually."

"So how did Carson talk you into a gown? I thought for sure you'd insist on scrubs."

"Kept messing them up. Carson said gowns are easier to change. Oh, crap." John closed his eyes and bowed his head into his chest, whimpering as a hard cramp grabbed hold and refused to let up. Elizabeth gripped his hand more firmly and he began gripping back, hanging on for dear life until the pain eased and he could breathe again. He lay panting for a few seconds before looking up at her. "Send Lorne down here with his gun. I have a job for him."

"John, that's not funny."

"It wasn't meant to be." His voice and expression were serious and it was beginning to scare her.

"John?"

"Oh, all right, I'm kidding. Well, at least part of me is. Maybe Ronon or Teyla could just knock me unconscious for a while. If I could just sleep for a few minutes without having to . . . " John's expression dropped before taking on a look of panic as he began shoving the covers back with one hand while pressing the call button with the other.

Elizabeth was startled at the response time. Within seconds, Nick and a nurse had John out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom, IV in tow. Beckett came up beside her and stood proudly. "It's an art at this point. We've been doing that all night and we don't miss getting him there much any more."

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone that sick before. It's kind of scary."

"Aye, me either. If he doesn't slow down, I'll be putting a second IV line in. As soon as we get some fluids in him, they come back out. His throat is raw from the vomiting and . . . well, enough said."

"I guess I'd better get to my office and do something constructive. Call me if there's any change, good or bad. I'll check back after while. Take good care of him Carson."

"I'm trying, Elizabeth. Believe me, I'm trying."

oOo

John wasn't sure when time had begun to blur, but it had to the point that he had no idea if it was night or day, much less how long he'd been in the infirmary. Agony had become his only companion, even tossing out the likes of modesty and humiliation. The fact that he was now becoming aware of that was a sign he was improving. The pain in his gut and the nausea had eased enough he could even straighten his legs out. He was starting to notice that every muscle in his body felt sore, as if he'd worked out for many hours with both Ronon and Teyla at the same time.

He groaned softly as he shifted, trying to pull the covers more tightly around him. The shivering was definitely not helping.

"Colonel? Are you awake?"

John opened his eyes a slit to see Rodney sitting in the chair beside the bed. He'd moved the seat up closer to the head of the bed, leaving him almost eye to eye with Sheppard as he lay on his right side.

"McKay?" John's mouth was dry and his throat sore, leaving his voice rough and gravely.

Rodney brightened as seeing the pilot was conscious. "Carson said I could sit with you a minute, that you were doing a little better."

"Yeah . . . stomach's beginning to settle. Everyone else okay?" John suddenly realized he'd been too out of it to notice if anyone else had become ill.

"We're all fine. It was the potato salad. Thanks for not sharing, by the way."

"Never eating potato salad again."

Rodney grimaced. "I don't blame you. It wasn't even me that was sick and I don't want any either."

"How long have I been here?"

"We brought you down here night before last and it's almost noon, so about a day and a half. You don't remember?"

"Let's just say my time here has been a bit hazy at best. Everything has just kind of run together."

Rodney watched as John pulled the blanket closer, his body shaking visibly under the covers. "Are you cold?"

"Freezing," he said softly, curling his legs up to conserve body heat.

Rodney brightened, seeing something he could do to help. "I'll have one of the nurses get you another blanket."

"Forget it, they won't give me one. I already asked."

Rodney's mouth dropped open as his brows shot up. "What? Since when? What kind of infirmary is Carson running here, when they won't give sick people a blanket to keep – "

"McKay, it's chills. They won't give me a blanket because I have a fever."

"Oh . . . well, that makes sense, I guess." Rodney still looked slightly miffed.

"You're a scientist. Why does my body temperature being too high make me feel like I'm freezing? That's so not right."

Rodney's expression morphed into one of smugness. "That's why I'm in physics and not biology. I don't think there are any laws for living systems, they just randomly do what they want to do. That's why medicine is not a true science. You just try stuff until something works and then it may or may not work the next time."

"Rodney," John drawled tiredly. "Never mind. I don't have the energy for this."

"Oh, sorry. Hey is it still there, the bad luck charm?" Without waiting for an answer, Rodney leaned forward and pulled the neck of the hospital gown down a bit, revealing the mark on John's chest.

"McKay," he growled as he weakly tried to pull away from the scientist. "It's not a bad luck charm. There's no such thing."

"That's weird," said McKay, continuing to stare at the mark. "I thought it would have started to fade by now."

"Rodney!" came the sharp, Scottish brogue. "What are you doing to my patient?"

Sheppard tried feebly to knock McKay's hand away. "Make him go away," he pleaded.

"I was just looking at his bad luck charm," said McKay defensively, removing his hand from Sheppard's gown. "And I thought he said he had a fever. He doesn't feel hot to me, he feels cold. No wonder he's freezing."

Beckett sighed, but stepped around Rodney to put his hand against Sheppard's forehead and then the side of his face. "You don't feel hot any more. That's odd, you had a temperature of almost 103 just an hour ago." Beckett walked a few steps and retrieved a thermometer, returning to take Sheppard's temperature. "Huh, it's 97 now," he said, looking at the reading.

"Can I have a blanket now?" asked Sheppard, lifting his head off the pillow a little.

"Aye, that you can, Colonel. I'll have Amy bring you one. And then I guess we'll check your temperature every half hour or so from now on." Beckett walked off, mumbling to himself.

"See, I'm good for something," said Rodney.

"Thanks, Rodney. I wonder if I could talk them out of two blankets."

"I'll take care of it," Rodney said cheerfully as he turned and bounced away to find Amy. He returned a few minutes later to find the colonel asleep, so he placed both blankets on the sleeping man's form and tucked them in around him. He smiled as he watched Sheppard sleep, finally feeling like he'd done something helpful.

oOo

Beckett ran his finger along the mark on Sheppard's chest as the pilot sat dressed in scrub pants on the edge of the bed, legs dangling down. "It looks and feels the same to me, Colonel. The abraded area around it is healing nicely, though."

"It's been almost four days. Are you sure it hasn't faded a little?" John asked, trying to look down to see for himself.

Carson leaned back a little and crossed his arms, eyeing Sheppard critically. "You aren't falling for this bad luck charm nonsense that Rodney's been spouting, are you?"

"No, no, of course not," Sheppard said quickly. "I was just . . . I just want it to go away. It's annoying. Fending off Rodney is getting really annoying."

Beckett smiled knowingly. "Aye, I can well imagine. You'll just have to give it a few more days. How's the rest of you feeling?"

Sheppard sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Not bad, still a little achy, but my stomach seems to have settled okay."

Beckett nodded. "The soup from lunch is still doing okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine. My stomach is sore, like I did about five hundred sit-ups, but no more nausea or cramps so far."

"Good. Your temperature is still bouncing around like a yo-yo, but at least it's staying closer to normal. You may still have hot and cold spells until it settles, though."

"Hey, is the cursed colonel ready to go, yet?" asked Rodney as he waltzed into the infirmary with Ronon and Teyla right behind him.

"Almost," said Beckett. "Colonel, let me know if there's any more nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea –"

"Doc!" exclaimed Sheppard, his face flushing as he avoided eye contact with his team.

Beckett rolled his eyes. "Oh, get over it colonel, it's not like they don't know what you've been doing in here. Anyway, let me know of there's any recurrence of your symptoms, is that better? Get lots of rest, because as you've probably noticed, that took a lot out of you. Don't be surprised if all you feel like doing is sleeping for another day or two. I'd stick to small meals of relatively bland foods for a few days as well. You're off duty until I tell you otherwise, so take it easy. Do you have any questions?"

"Just one, why are you guys here?"

"We're walking you to your room," said Ronon as if Sheppard should have already known that.

"Why?" John asked hesitantly.

"Dr. Beckett asked if one of us could accompany you," replied Teyla. "We decided that we would all like to come with you as a chance to see that you are recovered. Do you mind?"

John hesitated a few seconds and then slowly shook his head. "No, that's fine, I guess. I just would have thought you guys would have something better to do than walk me to my room like a small child who can't find his way." John turned to Beckett and glared, which the doctor made a show of ignoring.

"All right then, colonel, as soon as you're dressed, you can go." Beckett turned to go as Rodney handed Sheppard the bundle of clothes that he had picked up for the pilot. Sheppard pulled the privacy curtain and emerged dressed a few minutes later. He kept pulling on the waistband of his jeans and finally turned to Rodney.

"McKay, for future reference, you don't bring someone getting over food poisoning a pair of jeans to wear. Something light and stretchy like my running pants would have been nice. My stomach already feels like it's been used for a punching bag."

McKay just looked down at Sheppard's waist and shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't know. I didn't think any of your pants were snug enough to matter."

"Well, these are," Sheppard snapped. They walked for a few seconds before he spoke again. "Sorry, McKay, I'm still . . . off."

"No problem," said McKay, seemingly undisturbed by Sheppard's outburst. "I have a surprise for you in your quarters.

John looked up at Ronon. "What's he been doing in my quarters?"

"No idea," said Ronon. "But I'd be worried if I were you."

"Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence, gentlemen. See if do anything nice for either of you again," grumbled Rodney from behind the men.

Teyla sighed, wondering if all men acted like children most of the time or just the ones she had chosen to align herself with. "I'm sure that whatever Dr. McKay has done, it was done with good intentions."

"Thank you, Teyla. At least one member of this team has manners," whined Rodney.

They reached Sheppard's quarters and he opened the door. He wasn't telling his team, but he was so tired that he honestly didn't care if McKay had totally wrecked his room, as long as the bed was still standing. The bed was definitely standing, and freshly made as well.

"You made my bed?" asked Sheppard.

"I made your bed with freshly washed sheets and blankets," corrected McKay. "I didn't think you wanted to come home to dirty sheets and I figured you'd be spending a lot of time recuperating in bed the next day or two. I also noticed that almost all your clothes were dirty, so I had them done as well. They're folded in the chair there." Rodney pointed to a large pile of folded clothes in one of the chairs by the table.

John was impressed. He hated gathering laundry, which was why nearly everything he owned had been dirty. "Thanks, McKay. I'm sorry I gave you a hard time back there. This is . . . nice."

"You're welcome," said Rodney, grinning as if he were very pleased.

John let out a deep breath and turned to his team. "I don't want to be rude, but I'm really bushed and I'd like to lie down for a while. Thanks for making sure I got here okay."

Teyla stepped forward and leaned her head in so Sheppard could touch his forehead to hers. "We are glad to see you getting better, John. Get some rest and we will come by to check on you later."

"Thanks, guys." John watched as his teammates left, smiling at their protective nature. In one way, it seemed silly for them all to walk him to his quarters, yet in another way it was hugely comforting. After changing into some sweat pants, John pulled the covers back on the bed, spreading an extra blanket before he crawled in. He felt cold, so he huddled under the covers until the bed finally warmed up to his body and he began to relax, eventually drifting off to sleep.

oOo

John yawned and stretched, kicking the blankets off with his feet. His t-shirt was sweaty and stuck to him, his hairline damp as well. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes to see a tray on the table. Pulling himself to his feet, he wobbled over and picked up the note that had been folded and positioned to stand up.

Brought you food, but you were asleep. It's 6pm, so if you get up soon, you have a turkey sandwich. If it's much after that, you'd better stick to the fruit and Jell-o so we don't have to drag you back to the infirmary. We'll check on you in the morning. Rodney.

John smiled as he looked over at the clock. It was almost seven, so he decided to skip the sandwich. He wasn't taking any chances of a repeat performance. After a trip to the bathroom where he washed his hands and face, he returned to the table and ate a piece of fruit they had traded for. The fruit was similar to a peach and Rodney knew he liked them. He tried to add some of the Jell-o after that, but only managed a few bites before he felt full. He washed it all down with some water.

By the time he finished eating, he was really hot and the sweat seemed to pour off him. He took a shower with cool water, the spray relaxing the tension that had started building. After drying off, he put on a pair of boxers, deciding that it was too hot for anything more. By then, he was exhausted again, so he climbed back into bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

It was much darker when he woke up cold and pulled the covers up tightly around him. The cold seemed to amplify his muscle aches, making him wish he had another blanket. He knew he'd be warmer if he got up and put more clothes on, but he just didn't seem to have the energy. So he huddled down deeper under the covers until he finally began to feel warm again. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

John became aware he was scratching his arms furiously. He opened his eyes, making himself stop until he could figure out what was wrong. He sat up and pulled his arms out from under the covers, the gray light just beginning to stream through the windows not really illuminating the situation very well. He crawled out of bed, the brush of the blanket stirring an itch on his legs as well. By the time he reached the bathroom, almost every square inch of him had started to itch and he could feel a growing sense of panic.

Stepping into the bathroom and turning on the light, he immediately started the shower. His arms, legs, and torso were turning red, as if a rash was quickly spreading across his body. Dropping his boxers, he stepped into the shower and cranked up the hot water until steam was rolling off and it felt like it was scorching his skin. He shivered as the hot water burned as it gave relief from the itching. The instant reprieve from the torture made him almost giddy for a moment.

When the steam was so thick, he could barely see a foot in front of his face, he decided he had to get out. Besides, he was going to have to see Beckett about this and he wouldn't be happy if John showed up looking like a crispy critter so soon after the scrubbing incident. Turning the water off, he stepped out and began to towel off. His skin was bright red, which could either be from whatever was making him itch or from the hot water he'd just about scalded himself with.

Then he noticed the welts beginning to come up on his body, scattered and fiery red. Laying his hand over a large one on his leg, he found it tender and hot to the touch. This was so not good. He swiped the towel across the steamy mirror and looked at the reflection to see a smaller and lighter rash beginning to appear on his cheeks and down his neck. And then he noticed the mark made by Karyan, as dark as ever and shimmering green in the light.

TBC