The Bad Luck Charm – Chapter 4

By the time John arrived at the infirmary, the itching had picked back up with a fury. He walked stiffly and clenched his fists tightly at his sides, mentally chanting, "I will not scratch," over and over. John paused in the doorway, completely caught off guard by the bustle of activity in the room. Due to the early hour, he hadn't expected anyone but medical personnel to be here.

Several people sat on beds around the room, most either scratching at red patches on their limbs or being told not to by the staff. Whatever was kicking his butt wasn't limited to just him. He was a little ashamed at the relief he found in that knowledge, realizing that misery really does love company.

"Colonel? You too?" Nick approached him from across the room.

"What's going on?" asked John, noticing that Carson was in early. He also saw Amy and Marcy and he knew they worked day shift as well. Obviously the night staff had become overwhelmed and called in reinforcements. He briefly thought how sad it was that he was that familiar with what shifts the medical staff worked.

Nick nodded down toward John's exposed arms, noting the scattered red patches and welts. "How much of this do you have?"

"Let's just say it would be easier to tell you where it isn't," John said mournfully. He noticed Nick shaking his head and realized he'd begun to scratch the side of his leg. "Sorry, it itches like a son of a gun. What is this?"

Nick answered the question with a question. "Have you come into contact with anything recently laundered lately?"

John's eyes widened. "How about everything on my bed . . . you know, where I've been since late yesterday afternoon."

Nick winced. "What did you sleep in?"

John shifted his weight, his mood plummeting. "I started out in running pants and a t-shirt, but I got hot after a few hours and shucked down to my boxers."

Nick hesitated. "Recently washed boxers?"

John was hit by a moment of panic before sighing in relief. "No, I don't know why, but I grabbed boxers out of the drawer instead of the pile of fresh laundry. Thank goodness for that."

Nick smiled. "I guess now I know the area that doesn't have the rash. It's everywhere else?"

John nodded. "Nick, you didn't answer me. What is this?"

"Well, we think it's an allergic reaction to the new detergent the laundry section just started using. I'll go ahead and get you some Benadryl to help with the itching and then we need to run you through the shower and get you into some scrubs."

"I just had a shower," said John.

Nick nodded toward his chest. "And where did you get those clothes?"

John's face fell. "The fresh laundry pile . . . oh, crap, boxers too this time."

"Like I said, shower and scrubs and then I'll need to take a closer look at you." He caught hold of Kelly's arm as she went by. "Take the colonel to the showers and get him some fresh scrubs. Then I'll need him back here."

Kelly nodded. "Okay, I got it. You need to check on Corporal Statton, he's got it pretty bad."

Nick nodded. "Go ahead with Kelly and I'll get the Benadryl and be there in a sec." John began following Kelly and Nick headed the other direction.

"Hey, the scrubs haven't been to the laundry recently, have they?" John knew they had undoubtedly thought of that, but he was taking no chances, especially the way his luck had been lately.

"No, we pulled all of those the minute we began suspecting that was the source of the problem." Kelly grabbed a set of scrubs and led John to the back showers they had set up as a kind of decontamination area.

oOo

Elizabeth walked into the infirmary and immediately had to sidestep to avoid crashing into Amy.

"Sorry, Dr. Weir," the nurse called as she hurried by. "We're a bit slammed at the moment."

"I see that," she said as she edged over closer to the wall, taking in the scene before her. Every bed was occupied in some way. Most beds had people sitting on the edge, either scratching or being treated by medical personnel. Two beds in the back had more permanent residents, dressed in scrubs and somehow sleeping through the chaos around them.

"Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth let out a deep breath, thankful to finally see her CMO. "Carson, when you called I had no idea there was an emergency."

"Well, it's not exactly an emergency," he said. "Although I guess it is a wee bit of a crisis. We've treated at least thirty-five people in the last twelve hours."

"Thirty-eight," said Nick as he rushed by.

"What is it?" asked Elizabeth, starting to notice red patches on some of the patients.

"Allergic contact dermatitis," replied Beckett.

"What?"

"The Daedalus brought a new kind of detergent their last run and the laundry has just started using it this week. A rather large number of people are having an allergic reaction to it. We've already contacted the laundry to quit using it."

"Okay, can I do anything to help?"

"Yes, I need you to contact everyone and let them know what's going on. Anyone having a rash or experiencing itching should report to the infirmary immediately. Due to the widespread reaction, I think everyone should avoid using anything that's been laundered in the last couple of days."

Elizabeth nodded. "But what about all the laundry? Most everything that is clean can't be used now and we don't have any laundry detergent."

Beckett shook his head. "We keep a stock of hypoallergenic detergent for some of the expedition members with allergies to the perfumes and harsh cleansers found in many products. We'll have to get by on that until the Daedalus makes its next run. You'd better let Stargate Command know about the problem."

"Okay, I'll take care of it immediately. The Daedalus is due to head back in a couple of days." Elizabeth sighed heavily as she looked around the infirmary. "What kind of prognosis are we talking about?"

"They have varying degrees of exposure and levels of reaction. Most people are experiencing a mild rash that we're treating with antihistamines and cortisone creams. The medication makes them sleepy, so I'm advising them to not work for a couple of days. Most of them should begin to clear up and feel better after that, so they won't need the antihistamines during the day and will be able to take their shifts again."

Elizabeth nodded toward the back of the infirmary. "What about those two?"

"Their reaction was a bit more severe and they were wheezing a bit, so I'm keeping them until their lungs clear."

"How can they sleep through all this?"

"Drugs, my dear. I gave them something a might stronger than most people are getting because of the severity and . . . range of their reaction."

Elizabeth was studying the two figures closely. Corporal Statton was facing her, but the other patient was lying with his back to her, covers pulled up to his head. She couldn't miss the spikes of dark hair sticking out in contrast to the white pillow underneath. "Is that . . . "

"Yes, luv, I'm afraid so. He's back."

Elizabeth sighed heavily. "He just can't get a break lately, can he?"

oOo

"Take a deep breath," instructed Carson.

John did as he was told, trying to sit up straight as Carson moved the diaphragm of the stethoscope around his back, listening to him breathe.

Carson finally straightened up and removed the stethoscope, draping it over his shoulders. "Your lungs sound clear. How's the itching?"

"Better. It's bearable, at least. Does that mean I can go now?" John yawned as he waited for the doctor's answer.

Carson sighed and pursed his lips momentarily. "Colonel, I was thinking of keeping you over night for observation. You've had a rough week so far and I just think this bears a little monitoring."

John was already shaking his head. "I'm fine. You just said my lungs are clear and you've already released Corp. Statton. Come on Carson, I'll be good. I can't do much until I'm off all these drugs you've got me on anyway. I can hardly keep my eyes open."

Carson dipped his head slightly before looking back up at Sheppard. "All right, you have a good point. If you promise to get something to eat and go straight back to your room, I'll release you."

Sheppard held up his right hand. "You have my word, Doc. What about clothes?"

"You aren't going to like this, but you'd be more comfortable in the scrubs. I can guarantee you won't be the only one running around the city in them."

John looked down at the green scrubs. He hadn't even realized they had green scrubs, but the infirmary staff had been going through a lot of medical attire of late. John had just been grateful they didn't stick him in a gown. He had to admit, the scrubs were pretty comfortable.

"Okay, scrubs it is." He started to lean forward, a precursor to scooting off the bed, but Carson placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"Hold on just a minute, I have a couple of conditions."

John cocked his head to one side. "I already agreed to conditions, remember? Food and then my quarters."

Carson nodded. "And you will be sure to take the medication I'm sending with you."

John snorted. "Like I could possibly forget that. If I don't take it, I'll itch to death."

"Good. Last, you'll have an escort to the mess hall and back to your room. You have a lot of medication in your system right now and most of it causes drowsiness. I don't want any calls to come pick you up off the floor. I made Corp. Statton have an escort too, if that makes you feel any better."

"Actually, it does," he said petulantly. "At least a little less picked on."

Beckett tapped his radio. "Rodney, it's Carson."

"Carson, what do you want? I'm busy."

"I need someone to escort Colonel Sheppard to the mess hall and then back to his room. He's on a lot of medication and I want to make sure he gets everywhere safely."

"Okay, we're on our way."

John frowned. "We?"

Carson hit the radio again. "Rodney, who is we?"

"Ronon and Teyla and I. We were on our way to eat supper."

Carson blew out a puff of air. "Rodney, I thought you said you were busy."

"We are. Eating is busy. Don't get your panties in a wad, we'll be there in a minute."

John shrugged his shoulders. "He has a point."

"Doesn't he always?" said Beckett reluctantly.

oOo

John was extremely self-conscious walking through Atlantis in scrubs with bright red blotches still very visible on his arms. He relaxed almost instantly upon entering the mess hall, however, because he immediately saw people in several shades of scrubs scattered throughout the room. No one looked quite as blotchy as he did, but at least some of them still had obvious rashes.

As he stood in line, John warily eyed the food. It was his first trip here since the food poisoning incident and he didn't feel very trusting. He carefully avoided anything he thought might spoil easily. His stomach was still improving, but the bad memories were all too fresh. He made a couple of selections and sat down at a table beside Rodney.

After a few minutes of squirming in his chair, he bumped Rodney's arm, causing the food on his fork to plummet back down to his tray. "Do you mind? Why are you trying to do the rumba in your seat?" Rodney asked in annoyance as he stabbed the errant bite of meat with his fork again.

"Sorry, McKay, I can't help it. The boys are itching and I can't exactly scratch."

McKay dropped the fork that had been halfway to his mouth, causing it to clang against his tray as he sat straight up and closed his eyes. "Too much information, Sheppard. Way too much information."

"Who are the boys?" asked Teyla as she and Ronon sat down across from Sheppard and McKay.

John was thankful for the light rash that remained on the lower part of his face, hoping it hid the blood he felt rushing there. "I . . . uh . . . it's a guy thing . . . a joke, sort of . . . " He slouched down in his chair as McKay snickered next to him. Biting his lip in embarrassment, he kicked the scientist in the side of the leg.

"Ow, Sheppard . . . "

"I see," said Teyla, arching one eyebrow at him. John sunk a little lower in his chair and stared down at his plate, afraid that probably Teyla did see.

"Perhaps we should eat. The colonel looks tired and we must get him back to his room soon to take his medicine . . . for the itching." Teyla looked at him briefly before she turned her attention to the food on her tray.

That brought up the whole being escorted around like an invalid thing. Once had been okay, but he was starting to feel like everyone thought he was helpless. Heck, he was starting to feel helpless. He was sitting here about half asleep and trying desperately not to give in to the urge to scratch. Suddenly he was looking forward to getting back to his quarters and just sleeping. If he kept Carson's little cocktail going for a couple of days, maybe he could sleep through the worst of it.

"That's it? That's all you're eating?"

John looked over at McKay. "Small amounts of relatively bland food, remember?"

"Three green beans and a tablespoon of mashed potatoes hardly qualifies as a meal, even for you."

John looked down at his tray. "I've got more food than that, Rodney. And don't forget the Jell-o."

"John has been through a lot the last few days," said Teyla. "Perhaps he is just not very hungry."

"Thank you, Teyla," said John appreciatively.

"Leave him alone, McKay. He'll eat when he's ready," said Ronon.

"Fine, fine, I was just being a concerned friend. If he wants to carefully avoid meat and anything else that could spoil, thereby suffering from malnutrition, far be it from me to say anything."

John saw Ronon and Teyla look at his tray and then exchange a look. "Okay . . . so I'm a little gun-shy right now. I just want to be . . . careful for a few days."

Rodney suddenly snapped his fingers. "Got it. You just need to watch it til your bad luck charm wears off. How's that going by the way?" Rodney leaned around to look at the mark, visible because of the v-neck on the scrub shirt.

John stabbed his fork into his potatoes. "It's still there and it's not a bad luck charm."

"Just keep telling yourself that, Sheppard." Rodney stuffed a large bit of food into his mouth and began chewing.

John remained silent through the rest of the meal, mostly trying to stay awake. He caught himself dozing several times and Teyla poked him in the arm once. By the time the others has finished eating, he was looking forward to snuggling down into a nice, warm bed. He'd gotten cold sitting at the table.

He weaved a bit as they walked down the hall, occasionally bumping into the wall or one of his teammates, but no one said anything. Ronon elbowed him once when he had absently started scratching his shoulder. At least no one had mentioned the ugly red patches on his arms and neck.

"Sheppard, we're here," Ronon said as he grabbed his arm and stopped him from walking past his door.

"Oh, yeah, we are. Thanks guys." He opened the door and walked inside, hearing the door swoosh behind him. He stood there staring at his bare mattress and sighed heavily. Glancing around the room, he looked to see if whoever took his sheets and blankets might have left him some new ones, but there was nothing. Walking over to what served as his closet, he rummaged around until he unearthed a blanket he'd thrown in there at some point. It smelled a little dusty, but at least maybe it wouldn't make him itch. He shook it out before throwing it on the bed. The last thing he needed was some multi-legged creature joining him.

John went to the bathroom to grab a glass of water, but stopped to look in the mirror, staring at the mark on his chest. He fingered it lightly. Unfortunately, it didn't look like it had faded at all in the last five days. Grabbing the glass of water, he took it out and placed it on the nightstand just before reaching into the scrub pocket and pulling out his pill bottles. Glancing at the clock, he saw he was within half an hour of his next dose of meds. "Close enough," he said out loud as he dumped the pills in his hand then washed them down with the water. He shivered as another chill began settling in.

John sat on the edge of his bed and removed his shoes. He was about to curl up with the blanket, when he realized his pillow was missing. Standing, he slowly circled the whole room, looking every possible place you could put a pillow. No pillow. "Well, this sucks!" he said, once again talking out loud to the empty room. He stood staring at the thin blanket sitting on a bare mattress, briefly considering going back to the infirmary, where they had sheets, blankets, and pillows. But after the way he had insisted that Carson release him, there was no way he was going crawling back. He'd just have to make do.

John picked up the blanket, pulled it around him, and then curled up on the bed into the tightest ball he could manage. Shivering under the thin covers, he wished he at least had a thicker blanket or maybe a second one. He was freezing, yet again. Snuggling deeper into the bed, he pulled the blanket up over his head so that nothing stuck out in the cold air. After a few minutes, he finally began to relax as the meds started kicking in, producing the now familiar drugged sleepy feeling. He didn't care. As long as he went to sleep so he didn't feel the cold or the subtle itching that was slowly driving him insane.

TBC