Taken On Trust
By Ann3
Writer's Note: Ah, safety at last. Now, hands up all of you who think the nightmare's over...? Hmm, can't see too many waving handies out there - awww, I'm so flattered... you all know me so well... ;o)
There's a quick reference to Poisoning The Well, and the SG1 episode Heroes, just to up the angst levels. Enjoy !!
Chapter Five
The Stuff Of Nightmares
Between hightailing it back to Jumper One and leaving Vora, a minor miracle had taken place. On top of all the doctorates that he never tired of citing, Rodney McKay had somehow gained an MD.
Quite how the Pegasus galaxy's worst hypochondriac had acquired such abilities was anyone's guess – especially since he'd just barked out the orders while Teyla, with astonishing calm, carried them out.
But there hadn't been time to snarkily ask what qualified him to commandeer the Jumper's first aid kit. Battered and bloodied, deeply unconscious, Carson Beckett had needed help, however unlikely the source - and he'd needed it fast.
So instead John Sheppard had just nodded, accepting his role as chief nurse in silent compliance – snapping pads of gauze, tape and antiseptic swabs into Teyla's hands as though he'd been born to it
In fact, they'd all become amateur doctors during those first, fraught minutes aboard Jumper One – all playing their part in the fight to bring their CMO back to life, while Lorne arrowed them to safety.
It had been a terrifying, uphill battle.
The knife wounds to Carson neck, hand, and along his collar bone had been thankfully superficial – the bleeding from them easily controlled, blessedly stopped, by field dressings from his medical kit. The effects of its loss, though, the depth of his unconsciousness, had been another matter entirely
Throughout the scrambling dash for their lives from a mob of incensed Vorans, he'd not stirred once. Slung for speed's sake over Ronon's shoulder, he'd hung silent right through a jarring, all out sprint – his body deadweight, his arms banging with the same unnerving slackness against the Satedan's back
Laid, in hasty speed, on one of the seatbanks, he'd not moved, or flinched, or even groaned in protest. Even as his eyes now flickered blessedly open, the depth of terror within them was pitiful to see. It was taking all of Teyla's legendary calm, and much of her strength, to break that terror's grip.
Concussed and traumatised, in deep shock from his ordeal, he lay shaking helplessly in her arms – struggling against her, for several harrowing seconds, as his brutalised mind refused to release him.
It was from sheer exhaustion, more than anything else, that he finally, and thankfully, calmed down – sobs of helpless terror giving way, with painful slowness, to a faint, precious whisper of recognition.
"T – 'yla...?"
One word, one name, more mouthed than spoken – but it had been the breakthrough they'd prayed for. Even so, it now took another massive demand on Teyla's strength not to betray her own emotions – her voice still choking, in bitter fury at his suffering, even as she continued to gently comfort him.
"Yes, Carson... it is alright, you're safe now... you're safe now, Carson... it's alright, try to lie still..."
In too much pain, too weak, to argue, Carson simply nodded, squinting dazedly around him – realisation that he was, indeed, finally back in safe hands working a near miracle in calming him down. He even managed a trace of a smile as Rodney, John, even Ronon, grinned their own encouragement – following that with a sigh of pure gratitude as Teyla laid a soothingly damp cloth across his forehead.
"Mmm, tha's l'vely, l'ss… aye, jus' – jus' lov'ly…"
Revived enough by its coolness to notice a small graze on her forearm, he then frowned once more – his unbreakable concern for others still strong enough, despite his own pain, to make itself heard.
"T'yla…? 're – 're ye alr'ght, lass…?"
"I am fine, Carson… do not worry, we are all safe now…" she soothed him, still stroking his temple – warned by another wincing gasp of pain to tighten her arms around him, holding him gently closer. "Sh, it's alright, Carson, you're safe now… you're safe with us now, nothing more can hurt you…"
Alerted by the tension in her voice, John Sheppard was already reaching again for Carson's shoulder – sharing with her, and the rest of his team, a silent prayer of thanks as Carson thankfully quietened.
With the immediate crisis over, he then led the way in restoring some much needed normality – giving Carson's shoulder a gentle pat of encouragement, before casting Teyla a genuinely proud smile.
"Yeah, Carson, just let Teyla here take care of you, and we'll have you home in no time... okay...?"
Glassy blue eyes squinted up at him for a moment, before they creased into an all out frown – the sleepily mumbled cause for that frown prompting a quiet wave of relieved, much needed laughter. Even when concussed and barely conscious, Carson Beckett could still find something to worry about
"'f – 'f it's no' you doin' the flyin' f'r us, son, th'n who th' blo'dy hell is...?"
"It's okay, doc..." John Sheppard said at last, still grinning while he nodded towards the cockpit. "Lorne's up there, doing the honours, so you're still in safe hands... just rest and take it easy, okay...?"
The frown lingered for a further few moments, before Carson managed a sleepily lopsided grin – all further concerns over who was flying him home melting away as Teyla stroked back his hair.
Even as he gratefully watched her, Rodney McKay couldn't help but raise a peevishly miffed point.
"Hey, how come I don't get all this Florence Nightingale treatment when I get hurt…?"
Never one to miss a chance for some teasing, especially when needed as badly as this, John grinned.
"Must be those big, beautiful, baby blue eyes… right, doc…?" he suggested with a playful wink – Rodney's inevitable, sulky reminder that 'I have blue eyes too…' falling on conveniently deaf ears.
On the plus side, though, his pouting glare also coaxed out another faint but still so precious smile.
"Mus' be…" Carson agreed, the grin even widening slightly as Rodney pulled a face back at him – some of the guilt he still felt over his friend's ordeal lifted by a familiar, blessedly affectionate insult
"Och, stop yer sulkin', ye daf' bug'er…"
Beyond all the teasing, though, those baby blue eyes were starting to drift closed once more – prompting another gently chivvying call from John Sheppard to persuade him to open them again.
"Hey, Carson, stay with us… come on, buddy, we're almost home… you've got to stay awake…"
"Yes, Carson, you have a severe concussion..." Teyla cut in softly, still stroking his forehead. "I know how much you must want to sleep, Carson, but you cannot. You must stay awake…"
"'ye, l'ss, I – I know… need t' – t' ke'p me 'wake… ke – ke'p me t'lkin'…" Carson agreed – frowning, in puzzled surprise, as another voice behind him gruffly compelled him to do just that.
"Took guts to leave that trail, doc… real courage… you should be proud…"
Moving away from the partitioning bulkhead, Ronon now ambled back into Carson's field of view – clearly determined to play his part in keeping him conscious as he planted himself at Carson's feet.
"This kiss from Glasgow, doc… it's good… effective… tell me where you learned it…"
Listening to albeit rambling tales of Glasgow nightlife, John Sheppard allowed himself a weary smile. In terms of height, build, attitudes and temperament, these two were as different as chalk and cheese.
Yet there was a unique bond between them, which surpassed each and every one of those differences – a mutual respect which, given the circumstances of their first meeting, was all the more incredible.
Was it really just a few short months since the Satedan had kept his team at such deadly gunpoint…? With their lives under constant threat of attack, they'd both changed so much since then, of course.
Carson, especially, had come a long way, a hell of a long way, since his first jittery days on Atlantis – although, John now privately realised, his most deeply held fear over life in the Pegasus galaxy would now, surely, never change.
For as long as they'd been on Atlantis, their CMO had vehemently hated going off-world. He'd only recently revealed, over a quiet heart-to-heart in the Commissary, the tragic reason why – a mission during his time at the SGC, where the woman he'd secretly loved had been brutally killed in front of him.
From that, and the horrors he'd just been through, a long running joke had now lost all its humour. Only now could John Sheppard appreciate the courage it took for him to step through the Stargate. Had enough of his brutalised trust survived for Carson Beckett to ever go through it again…?
It was too soon to answer that question, of course. You didn't need any medical knowledge to know that Carson Beckett's injuries were going to keep him off his feet for some time. And the mental scars of what he'd just been through would take longer still to heal.
But John Sheppard had already privately answered his own question. If there were lives in danger, either on Atlantis or an off-world planet, Carson Beckett would be there. He'd put his fears and personal tragedy aside, then push himself to his physical limits, frequently go way beyond those limits, to protect and save life.
So yes, John knew that, in spite of this horrific ordeal, his friend would step through the Gate again.
And yet, he sadly reflected, Carson Beckett would be safer, much safer, if he stayed on Atlantis. It was where he belonged... where he could potter about in his Infirmary, doing what he did best.
Not that John doubted his courage. He'd just seen Carson's bravery proven, in all ways possible, but – well, every time he took their CMO off-world, he tended to return deeply scarred by the experience.
Even before they'd come to Atlantis, stepping through the Stargate had torn Carson Beckett's world apart. Back at the SGC, he'd seen Janet Fraiser blasted to death in front of his helpless, horrified eyes. And the tragedy on Hoff had left a wound on his conscience which, John knew, would never fully heal
On every mission since, part of his idealism, his faith in human nature, had been cruelly stripped away. The gentlest soul that he'd had ever met was being turned into something he'd never wanted to be – a doctor completely dedicated to saving lives, so often forced to go against everything he believed in.
And now this. Kidnapped, tortured and sold into slavery on a supposedly piece of cake mission.
Wonderful.
John couldn't remember when he'd felt so tired, so angry, as he studied the brutalised face beside him
'Damn it, Carson, I shouldn't have allowed this to happen… you shouldn't be going through this...'
Irony had a truly cruel sense of timing as another soft groan rose from the seatbank beside him – the proud history of 'Glaswegian kissing' taking more strength than Carson Beckett had to spare.
As several more tremors of pain shook their way through him, Teyla held him very carefully closer. Tears of sympathy stung her own eyes as Carson struggled through his agony to find a smile for her – the relief of safety tempered, inevitably, by the terror and pain he'd suffered at the hands of his captors
"I – I kn'w you'd fin' me, l'ss… knew you'd fin' me, an'… an' ge' me back…"
Still sickened by the brutality which they'd inflicted upon him, Teyla softly kissed his forehead – gently comforting him, with both her voice and her touch until, at last, that terror faded from his eyes.
"Of course we were going to find you, Carson… we were never going to let them take you from us…"
That won her a shakily faint smile – followed, eventually, by an equally weak whisper of gratitude.
"'ye, lass, I know... an' – an' ye make a won'erful nurse..."
"I have learned from a truly wonderful teacher..." Teyla replied, favouring him with another gentle kiss – perhaps thankfully oblivious to John Sheppard's dry grin, the mutters of disdain from Rodney McKay
Their relief was short-lived, though, as that precious smile suddenly fell away from Carson's face – the welcome humour of just seconds earlier overwhelmed, yet again, by a delirium of terror and pain. Even huddled in the warmth of their jackets, he now lay shaking, increasingly violently, beneath them
His fretful ramblings, too, had re-started. To mounting alarm, they revealed the brutality of his captors
"L – Le' me sle'p... I – I won' try anythin', I swe'r, jus' – jus' ple'se, lemme sle'p..."
He was crying now, his head rolling across Teyla's lap, his face contorted in subconscious agony. And, to John Sheppard's silent horror, a sudden coughing fit left a telltale trickle of red at the side of his mouth.
"Oh, jeez..." he whispered, staring in shock at how rapidly Carson's condition was deteriorating.
He'd already radioed Atlantis, reporting their CMO's injuries to his second in command. Now, fighting to keep a rising fear out of his voice, John placed another call direct to her Infirmary – relaying Kate Buchanan's advice, as calmly as he could, back to his equally shaken, horrified team.
'Try and keep him calm, Colonel… from the heat and blood loss, he's clearly goin' into shock... it's too dangerous to let him drink, he might choke on it, but you can moisten his mouth with water… raise his legs a little too, if ye can, and keep his head low… keep him warm, but don't smother him… and with the hallucinations, however much he wants to sleep, you must keep him conscious…'
It had sounded so easy, but putting simple theory into practice was proving much more difficult. In spite of near frantic attempts to stabilise his condition, Carson Beckett was going downhill fast.
He'd stopped crying now, but the silence he now lay in offered precious little reassurance or comfort. If anything, its unrousable depth only confirmed John Sheppard's horrified suspicions.
'Oh, sweet Jesus, no...'
His eyes were still closed too, the lashes even more strikingly dark against a face that was now drained of all colour. It took a riskily firm pat on his face, and several minutes of oxygen, to make him open them again. Even when they finally did so, the glassiness within them still silently chilled John Sheppard's soul.
He'd seen enough combat, its horrific consequences, to know what that unfocussed blankness meant – prompting a quiet, barely calm plea to try and stop the unthinkable from happening to Carson Beckett.
"Hey, come on, Carson, stay with us... come on, buddy, just hold on, we're dialling the Gate now... just hold on for a few more minutes, Carson, you hear me...? Just hold on, we're almost home..."
"Yeah, Carson, you've gotta hold on… I – I mean, Cadman's waiting for you, so… well, I mean, you - you've gotta hold on for that..." Rodney chipped in – his face not the only one to fall, in complete dismay, at Carson's heartbreaking lack of response.
The special brightness in his eyes which Laura's name always invoked just wasn't there this time. And, to McKay's alarm, what little focus there had been in those eyes had now all but disappeared.
All joking and jibing aside, Rodney didn't need a medical degree to work out the terrible, unthinkable truth. For all their attempts to save it, Carson Beckett's life was sliding ever more rapidly away from him.
The closest thing to a brother that Rodney McKay had ever known was dying, right in front of his eyes. And there wasn't a damn thing that the most brilliant mind in the Pegasus galaxy could do to stop it.
Faced with such a terrifying thought, Rodney now knelt on the floor next to Carson's shoulder – not trusting himself to meet Teyla's own stricken eyes as he carefully lifted his friend from her arms into his. He just hoped she understood.
The gentlest squeeze on his shoulder silently assured him that she did. If the unthinkable really was about to happen, if Carson Beckett really was about to die, then – well, it was only right, only fitting, that he should be held by the friend who'd known him the longest
Yet even as he took a coldly limp hand, so gently, into his, Rodney couldn't believe what he was doing.
'This – This isn't happening... no, this – this just isn't happening...'
Except it was happening. The eyes of his best friend really were turning, so painfully, towards him. And he, Rodney McKay, really was revealing feelings he'd never thought, never imagined, he'd do
"Damn it, Carson, hold on…! You're – You're the best friend I've ever had, Carson, you hear me...? I – I mean it, Carson... without you, I'd have gone nuts out here, and – and you've got to hold on... we're going to get you home, Carson... you're gonna be okay, you hear me…? Just hold on…!"
"'m try'n' to, R'dn'y… re'lly, 'm – 'm... try'n'…" Carson whispered, his voice barely audible now – squinting painfully up at him, out of eyes that were becoming harder and harder to keep in focus.
He was trying so hard, so desperately hard, to keep them open, but he was so tired. Just so very tired. Surely it wouldn't matter if he were to close them just for a minute…? Just for a few seconds…? At least then he'd enjoy some peace and quiet from the voice that kept nagging him to stay awake – the same voice which now rose, in pure horror, as Carson's eyes drifted inexorably shut once more.
"Carson…? Carson…! Damn it, Colonel, can't this bucket go any faster…?"
'Only if ye get out an' push, Rodney, ye great panicky jessie…'
In the peaceful sanctuary of his mind, Carson Beckett smiled at the image it had now created for him. Shrouded in shafts of gentlest light, Rodney McKay's glaring face promised a lifetime of 'voodoo revenge' – just as, in the real world, Carson's body fell limp, terrifyingly slack, in his best friend's arms.