Shots Six - Four

Teyla felt both anger and fear quicken her heartbeat. Ronon was still looking at John's limp body with an expression of both pain and horror, but he hadn't yet made any move to either help or get out of the way.

"Move!" Teyla said harshly, shoving at his shoulder. Numbly, Ronon moved to the side, letting her through to John. She crouched down next to him, heart in her throat.

John was face down, and making absolutely no move to right himself. She could tell he wasn't completely unconscious, because he seemed to be trying to talk to her, or perhaps express his general discontent with his current situation.

He had already vomited once. Thankfully his stomach seemed to be well on its way to empty - he was awkwardly positioned, and the most recent bout of sickness had left the side of his head sticky. Teyla frowned and rolled him onto his side, doing the distasteful job of wiping the vomit off of him with her sleeve.

"...'eyla," he whispered.

"What is it, John?" She carded her fingers through his hair as Carson crouched next to her, laying a hand on his neck to check his pulse again. In the background, she could hear Rodney yelling at Ronon, reaming him out for offering to carry the Colonel and then promptly dropping him.

"Sick," John whispered. She thought it was a more general comment until he curled forward and gagged up a mouthful of moonshine.

"I know," Teyla said soothingly. "Carson will make it better soon."

"'M ready t' go home now," he muttered, eyelids drooping closed.

"I am sorry," Teyla whispered, stroking his hair back from his forehead. "Soon."

John coughed miserably and spat up some more moonshine, groaning softly with the exertion. He didn't say anything more. Teyla stayed beside him, talking softly, until John's body stopped shaking and he seemed to be done throwing up for the time being.

"Quick, now," Carson said. "Let's get him to his room before he starts again."

Rodney immediately broke off shouting at Ronon and knelt down next to the doctor. Together, they heaved John to his feet, each looping one of his arms over their shoulders. Ronon, still looking guilty - although not guilty enough, in Teyla's opinion - stepped forward as well, looking as though he wanted to offer his assistance.

"What, are you joking?" Rodney said sharply, pulling John closer. "You dropped him."

Ronon grimaced. "I-"

"No," Teyla snapped. She stepped back, letting Carson and Rodney bring John ahead, and advanced on Ronon.

"Of all the irresponsible, harmful things to try…I am very disappointed in you, Ronon."

Rodney might have felt bad for Ronon, if he wasn't so angry himself. It was Teyla's turn to make her disapproval known, and she'd been taking full advantage of it for the past ten minutes. If Rodney was Ronon, he'd probably have hidden by now, or fallen on his knees to beg for mercy.

That wouldn't be a bad idea, actually. After all, Ronon had dropped John. Rodney glanced sideways at John, whose head was drooping almost to his chest. As Rodney watched, John stirred slightly, muttering something unintelligible. His eyes didn't open.

Rodney felt a sudden fierce protectiveness course through him, and he shot an additional glare backwards at the sheepish Ronon. Maybe Rodney should give him another piece of his mind….

"And starting a betting pool," Teyla spat. "Under what circumstances could you possibly think that that was a good idea? What kind of person would attempt to make money on this?"

Rodney winced. On second thought, perhaps he had better stay out of this.

"McKay-" Ronon began, and Rodney didn't like where that was going.

"Yes, you're right, I think you've learned your lesson, hmm?" Rodney said desperately, readjusting his grip on John and quickening his pace. "Let's concentrate on getting John back to his room."

John lifted one arm, flailing it weakly. Rodney thought it was just a random movement, but then John's hand tapped him on the elbow. Rodney shifted John's weight slightly, peering into his friend's face.

"St'p," John mumbled, his throat working.

Rodney sucked in an exhausted breath, and with Carson's help, lowered John to the ground. John panted weakly for a moment and then started retching.

"How is he still throwing up?" Rodney said, hoping John was out of it enough that he wouldn't recognize the desperate whine. Rodney kept one hand on John's convulsing back.

Carson shrugged weakly. "He must be very nearly done."

Carson didn't sound particularly confident, and Rodney hoped it was just a trick of the light that had the doctor looking so pale and exhausted.

John finished up quickly this time. Rodney knew it was important to get John somewhere he could lie down and get some rest, so as soon as John had stopped retching, Rodney and Carson heaved him to his feet and started walking again. John hung limply between them. Occasionally, he would try to help walk, feet twitching halfheartedly, but mostly, they were just dragging him.

Twice more, they had to stop for John to vomit. By this point, he was mostly just dry-heaving, occasionally bringing up a little watery moonshine or stomach acid. He seemed to be in more pain that he had earlier, whimpering slightly after each unproductive spasm.

"This is really gross," Rodney said. "Like...really gross. I can't believe I have to do this. He is going to owe me so much."

Rodney did not really mean that this was gross and that John would owe him. What he really meant was that it was hard to watch his friend in so much pain, and he hoped John would be alright. But even though he was a little drunk, those sorts of words were difficult and frightening to say.

Carson didn't say anything, but the expression on his face told Rodney the doctor had understood what he'd meant.

It seemed to take a lifetime to arrive back at the room the Kuwanese people had provided for John to stay. They had only meant to stay here one or possibly two nights, so they had all packed light. John's room was empty aside from his usual backpack, full of pajamas and power bars, or whatever it was John thought he would need for an overnight, and his discarded tac vest. He hadn't bothered to spend any time unpacking, and the bed was still neatly made.

Rodney and Carson deposited John on the bed. He mumbled slightly and curled in on himself, but Rodney thought that he seemed more comfortable.

"It'll be alright now, son," Carson said, taking off his backpack and patting John hastily on the shoulder as he began to unpack. "We'll have ye right as rain soon enough."

John sighed softly and flopped over onto his back. It didn't seem to be a voluntary movement, as he looked completely unconscious again.

"Oh, watch out," Carson said sharply. "If he throws up while he's face up, he could choke. Could ye prop him on his side with a few pillows?"

Rodney could think of no worse way to die, and he'd thought of a lot of them. Shuddering, he gripped John's shoulder and struggled to turn him onto his side. For someone who seemed so light, the Colonel was awfully hard to maneuver. He seemed to be all limbs, flopping about uncoordinatedly.

Eventually, Rodney maneuvered John onto his side, and Teyla joined him, helping him prop a few pillows behind John's back so he couldn't roll over.

John mumbled something, apparently agitated. His eyes squeezed tightly shut, and his free right hand began to move weakly, attempting to push the pillows away.

"No," Rodney told him, grabbing John's wrist and pulling his hand away from the pillows. John whimpered slightly, trying to take his hand back.

"You can't mess with the pillows," Rodney said desperately, feeling as though the situation had slipped irrevocably out of his hands. John was completely absent, mentally speaking, and Rodney himself was a little too drunk to feel as though he had full command of the situation.

"Shh, John, it is alright," Teyla whispered, laying a calming hand on John's shoulder. She sat on the opposite edge of the bed, transferring her hand to John's back and stroking it gently.

John mumbled again and stopped trying to yank his hand away from Rodney. Rodney laid it down, wishing that this wasn't happening. John was not supposed to be this drunk, not so drunk that he didn't seem like John. Even when Rodney had seen John badly injured, in so much pain he could barely talk, he was still in control of his faculties, in command of the situation. This was different, and Rodney didn't like it.

"You're going to be fine, you know," Rodney told John. Really, he was trying to convince himself far more than John. He didn't think that John could understand a word that he was saying. "And we'll tease you about this, and everything will be normal again."

John stirred slightly, pressing his face into the sheets. He looked dreadfully pale all of a sudden, his hair sticking to his forehead with cold sweat.

"Okay, maybe we won't tease you," Rodney said quietly. "This isn't very funny anyway."

Somehow, while Rodney had been focused on keeping John from moving the pillows or rolling onto his back again, Carson had managed to completely prep an IV. Rodney still thought biology, and by extension medicine, might possibly be magic, but he had to respect how fast Carson was. The doctor could be nervous and emotional, but when it really came down to it, he simply...got the job done. Not unlike Rodney himself.

Carson deftly grabbed John's right arm and rolled it enough that the crook of John's elbow was exposed. Rodney looked away as Carson stuck John with the needle - he wasn't squeamish, but watching a needle go into his best friend just seemed like a little too much.

"There," Carson said softly. "That'll make him a little more comfortable."

"Are there painkillers in there?" Rodney asked suspiciously. John had seemed pretty miserable, last time he had been conscious enough to seem like anything, and Rodney figured it was a good time to take advantage of the fact that John was too out of it to refuse them.

"No," Carson said. "He doesn't need painkillers, although I don't imagine he'll feel very well in the morning."

"Anti-nausea medication?" Rodney asked.

"He doesn't need that either," Carson said. "I don't want any more drugs in his system. This is just fluids, to get his blood pressure back up and rehydrate him some. He'll feel much better tomorrow because of this. He may vomit again, but aside from that I think he's through the worst of it. I'm just going to stay up with him, make sure he keeps breathing on his own."

"Keeps breathing on his own?" Rodney squeaked. It hadn't occurred to him that that was a thing that John might stop doing.

"What did you think was going to happen?" Now, Carson sounded a little angry. Rodney had only heard the doctor get angry a small handful of times, and it was usually directed at John, not him. "The man drank his own body weight in alcohol!"

Rodney looked around the room. Teyla had the decency to look ashamed. Ronon looked like he wasn't paying attention, but Rodney knew him well enough to think that he possibly seemed a bit sad.

"I...didn't think it would turn out this badly," Rodney said half-heartedly. In his own defense, this was completely true - Rodney wasn't in the habit of putting his friends in danger for fun.

Carson looked as though he were about to say something else, when John whimpered again, eyes squeezing shut.

Shots Three - Two

Teyla helped roll John forward just as Carson grabbed a trash can from the corner of the room and stuck it in front of John's face. John seemed close to unconsciousness again, barely registering the discomfort. Teyla supposed that might almost be a good thing - at least he wasn't miserable - but it was frightening to watch.

Luckily, this bout lasted only a few minutes before John's face went slack and his muscles relaxed. He was done for the time being, hopefully for good, and Teyla pulled him back onto the bed.

"I thought you said he was done," Rodney said plaintively, looking guiltier than Teyla had ever seen him. Even Ronon, who'd been judiciously silent ever since Teyla had admonished him, was looking ashamed of himself.

Teyla shared the sentiment. She had wanted to stop John from continuing when it became apparent that he was far too drunk, but she had let him convince her otherwise, and now Carson was talking about ensuring that John continued to breathe on his own while John threw up into a trash can.

"I said I hoped he was done," Carson said grimly. "It's hard to tell, and he's very drunk."

"How is it this bad?" Rodney asked. "He seemed fine a while ago, and he's Sheppard, he always does this sort of stuff…. Wouldn't he have known?"

Carson sighed, rubbing his temples. "Rodney, this is Colonel Sheppard's first mission back in a week. A week that he spent in the infirmary, unable to keep food down. Even if he does know his tolerance, which I'm not convinced he does, he's lost a lot of weight. It's bound to be lower than usual. None of you thought of that, did ye?"

Teyla looked away from the doctor in shame. She had thought about John's recent illness, she'd even worried about his ability to keep the drinks down, and she still hadn't thought to consider how much harder the moonshine would be hitting him than usual. She combed her fingers through John's hair in a silent apology, and he hummed slightly and settled deeper into the bedding.

Carson looked at their faces, and sighed softly, clearly softening.

"But what's done is done, and I'm here now, and John will be perfectly fine. Well, he'll be bloody miserable in the morning, but he'll be right as rain after he gets some fluids and food in him."

"It's a shame that after all this, he didn't even win," Rodney said. "We're not going to get the trading deal we wanted."

Teyla pursed her lips together. This was not something she found pleasing either, although at this point she was more unhappy for John's sake than she was for the sake of Atlantis. "Perhaps...refrain from telling him that tomorrow morning," she said. "At least not immediately."

They were silent for a few minutes. John seemed to be sleeping more peacefully now, and Teyla thought it could have been her imagination but John seemed to be breathing a little more deeply. She still had her hand in his hair.

"I think he's settled down," Carson finally said. "The three of you should get some rest. It's been a long night for you as well."
Teyla thought it was kind of Carson to acknowledge that, especially after everything the three of them had inadvertently put John through, but Teyla had absolutely no intention of leaving. It was the least she could do for both John and Carson to wait here until her friend woke up.

"We're not leaving," Rodney said firmly, and this, she had to admit, was a bit of a surprise. She had expected both Rodney and Ronon to retreat to their rooms and sleep off their own drinks as soon as they were given permission. But Rodney's voice was that distinctive combination of whiny and determined that made him completely impossible to argue with. And when Teyla turned around, she saw that Ronon was nodding as well.

"The worst is truly over," Carson said. "There's no reason for the three of you to stay. I promise you he's in good hands."

"He's the Colonel," Rodney said, as if this completely addressed Carson's concerns.

"It'll be a long night," Carson said. "And he'll be sleeping like the dead. He likely won't wake enough to even realize you're here until morning."

"He's our friend," Teyla said.

Carson finally nodded. Teyla got off John's bed - as much as she wanted to be physically close to him, she doubted at this point that close proximity would actually help any. Since Ronon and Carson had already claimed the only two chairs, she settled herself on the floor, back leaning up against the wall. Rodney followed suit, looking deeply displeased that he had to sit on the floor. Still, he took his place without verbal complaint, and they settled down for the night.

Towards dawn, there was a knock on the door. Rodney and Carson looked around sharply, and Ronon started out of the light doze he'd fallen into, almost lurching out of his chair.

"I wasn't asleep," he mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Teyla ignored him and went to answer the knock before the noise could awake John. The knock came again, and he stirred slightly, but his eyes stayed closed and he didn't seem to register the noise.

Teyla opened the door to reveal one of the Kuwanese officials they'd met yesterday. Teyla put a finger to her lips and slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

"Colonel Sheppard is still sleeping," she told the man, doing her best to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice.

"We would like to discuss the terms of the trade agreement," the Kuwanese man said, obligingly lowering his voice to a whisper. "If you are able?"

Teyla considered. It would be best if she could receive the bad news without John there, and she could gently break it to him later. Besides, she doubted that he'd be in a fit state to discuss the ins and outs of a new treaty at any point today.

"Very well," she said, nodding to the man. Ducking back into John's room, she explained where she was going.

"Good luck," Rodney mumbled, not sounding remotely hopeful. Unfortunately, Teyla agreed. She wished that she could have better news for John when he awoke. Leaving the room again, she followed the Kuwanese man down the hall.

For a split second after waking up, John felt okay. Then, he opened his eyes, and he felt as far from "okay" as he'd ever been.

The first thing he noticed was the headache. In the two seconds that he'd had his eyes open, it had built from a slow, painful ache behind his eyes to a rapid burst pulse of pain that somehow encompassed his whole head. It hurt even to move his eyes, so John closed them.

That didn't help, because now John was noticing the nausea. Closing his eyes unmoored him from the room around him, and he suddenly felt like the room was tilting violently. Desperately, he reached one hand out, gripping the bedsheets in an attempt to anchor himself.

"He's awake, I think." That was Rodney's voice, like a spike being driven through his throbbing skull. John squeezed his eyes shut tighter and weathered the pain.

"Colonel Sheppard. How are you feeling?" Carson. Thankfully, he was speaking a bit quieter, and John's headache subsided just enough for him to consider attempting to answer.

Shot One

John cracked one eyelid and was preparing to speak when, much to his surprise, he was turning on his side and retching over the side of the bed. He heard Rodney make a small noise of disgust and Carson (when had Carson gotten here again?) leaned forward and put his hand on John's shoulder. John didn't remember much of what had happened the night before, but he figured it must have involved a lot of vomiting, because now, there was almost nothing in his stomach.

"What...happened?" he gasped when he was done. Carson helped him roll onto his back.

"Do you remember the contest?" Ronon asked.

"Um, yeah," John said. The lights in the room were far too bright. He gingerly lifted a hand and held it over his eyes. "I mean...most of it. Some of it."

"Can you drink a little water?" Carson asked. John shook his head weakly. He knew he was just hungover, and he would feel much better once he'd had some fluids. But he actually felt a little less sick after vomiting, and he wasn't exactly in the mood to push it.

"In a few minutes then," Carson conceded, and John nodded.

"Did I...did I win?" John asked. He didn't remember...he had a few vague memories of the night. Teyla talking to him while he was seated on a bench, trying very hard not to throw up, lying on the ground for some reason, looking down at his feet. He didn't remember anything at all about the outcome of the contest.

There was an awkward silence. John took his hand away from his eyes, and saw that Carson, Ronon, and Rodney were all decidedly not looking at him. That could only mean bad news.

"Sheppard…," Rodney began slowly.

And then the door opened, and Teyla came back in. Her face lit up with a smile when she saw that John was awake. "Good morning! How are you feeling?"

John lifted one hand into a wavering thumbs-down.

"I have some news that will cheer all of you up," Teyla said. "Despite the fact that John did not win, the Kuwanese were quite impressed with John's performance. Although he did not prove a high alcohol tolerance, he did prove his determination and resilience. They are giving us the best possible trade deal."

There were exclamations of excitement all around, although John still didn't feel very well and could only bring himself to give a small smile.

"Oh, Mckay, I nearly forgot," Ronon said, as if the mention of one piece of good news had reminded him of more. "Your winnings."

He pulled a handful of cash out of his pocket, and John watched in stunned silence as Ronon handed it to the scientist.

Rodney looked just as confused. "My...what?"
"Your winnings," Ronon said. "You bet that John would get alcohol poisoning. And he did. Beckett said."

Rodney's eyes widened in embarrassed shock as he accepted the money.

"You bet against me?" John gasped. He wished he could sit up. He thought that would look more dramatic. "You bet that I would get alcohol poisoning?"

"He bet that you would win at first," Ronon said diplomatically. "Really, this happened too late in the night, anyone with eyes could see you weren't going to win."

"Ronon bet you would lose right from the beginning!" Rodney pointed for emphasis. "After only ten shots! Blame him!"

"Ronon did WHAT?" John couldn't raise his voice very loud. But he thought the meaning was still clear.

"Hey, I learned my lesson," Ronon said with a shrug. "Never bet against John Sheppard."