Taken On Trust
By Ann3
Writer's Note: Aww, thanks so much for the latest reviews !! One of the great things about having internet access at work - you can use it during your lunchbreak ! So here's the first of today's updates !!
Yes, we're heading into the home stretch now. And as much as I love whumping the poor wee thing, I think Carson's been banging at death's door for long enough. Time to bring him back to the land of the living, I think - although getting there is not going to be easy !!
Hey, I'm a fanfic writer - what else did you expect...? ;o)
Chapter Nine
From Hell to Hello
To the untrained eye, the latest monitor readings meant little more than wiggling lines across a screen. But for a doctor keeping watch over her patient, their increasing activity meant everything in the world. It heralded a crucial change in that patient's condition, which had Kate Buchanan instantly on the highest alert
After four days of lying in painstakingly controlled sleep, Carson Beckett was starting to wake up – soft sobs of discomfort, winces across still closed eyes, warning her it was not a pleasant awakening.
And it would get worse, Kate sadly reflected, placing the gentlest of comforting hands on his shoulder. Even under the most powerful medication, their strongest painkillers, Kate knew that he was waking into utter agony.
"It's alright, Carson, you're safe now… you're safely home now, son, it's all over…" she said softly, noting, in both personal and professional concern, that her attempts to reassure him weren't working. If anything, he was becoming more and more restless, flinching more agitatedly away from her.
His temperature, too, which had risen slightly that afternoon, was continuing to worryingly climb. Unless it fell soon, released him from its resultant delirium, she'd have to sedate him again, and – well, there was only so much enforced sleep that an already dangerously weakened body could take.
So for now, at least, Kate Buchanan placed her faith in a more old-fashioned cure for a restless fever. An electric fan kept a gently cooling current drifting across his face, occasionally ruffling his hair – a dampened cloth across Carson's forehead making the most of every sweep of that soothing coolness
If only to feel that she was achieving something, doing something constructive, Kate now removed it – rinsing it thoroughly, letting it absorb as much water as it could take, before very gently replacing it.
She'd already identified the fever's source as the rash which surrounded the cut on Carson's hand. A keen gardener back on Earth, she'd recognised it almost immediately as a plant-based allergen. John Sheppard's grim account of that frantic dash through Voran woodland had filled in the blanks.
'He deliberately cut his hand, doc… left a trail on whatever he could reach so we could follow him…'
Left to fester, unseen, in Carson's bloodstream, some form of alien plant-life had taken a violent hold. Now the best botanists on her team were working, as feverishly as her patient, to devise an antidote – leaving Kate to sadly reflect on the sheer cruelty of irony as she gently stroked back Carson's hair.
The desperate measures he'd taken to save his own life had now returned to further torment his mind. Something he'd touched during that desperate life or death trail had induced some deeply disturbing side-effects.
Trapped within the nightmare of his own subconscious, Carson Beckett was taking the trip from hell – his fretful sobs of terror now rousing two equally restless figures from their own fitful haven of sleep.
First to regain his bearings, John Sheppard was already rising from the bed he'd finally crashed out on.
From the adjacent bed, Laura Cadman was rising too, stumbling in her haste to reach Carson's side – sagging against her CO's supporting arm as, yet again, her hopes and prayers were brutally shattered.
She'd prayed so hard for this moment, waited so long for him to show some precious sign of life. And for that yearned for moment to come like this, as Carson flinched in pure terror at her touch…? It was almost too heartbreaking for her to take.
He'd survived his capture and captivity, the brutal torture which his captors had inflicted upon him. He'd survived his rescue, the journey back to Atlantis, the so nearly fatal loss of unnoticed blood. Against all odds for his survival, Carson Beckett had come through the surgery needed to save his life.
Bucking those same laws of probability, he'd lived through the first critical, terrifying night afterwards. Only time would tell if he'd survive the fresh terrors which now haunted his already traumatised mind.
Totally demoralised, those who'd shared those terrors with him now closed their eyes in silent prayer.
Wait. Yet again, all they could do was wait. Watch. Hope. And silently pray.
He was getting restless again – something that Kate Buchanan had already resigned herself to expect. In fact he'd been restless for most of that morning, as his return to consciousness slowly continued.
His feverish mutterings had been too faint, though, too rapid and fleeting, for them to be understood. He'd then quietened and settled again, pulled gently back into the calm stillness of deep, healing sleep. And for the friends who'd kept anxious watch over him, it had been the same frustrating story – relief to see him sleeping peacefully again, conflicting with shared impatience to see him wake up.
Now, though, Kate felt a renewed, hopeful excitement start to take a more optimistic hold.
Maybe it was her experience as a doctor, the friendship between them, that enabled her to see it. But Kate knew, just from this subtle change in his movements that, at last, the wait was almost over. After five days of practically living at Carson's bedside, her vigil over him was about to be rewarded.
It was a nervous excitement, though, as she watched the first telltale flicker of slowly opening eyes. Would he be lucid again now, sufficiently recovered from his ordeal, to recognise her…? Or would he still be trapped inside the nightmare of a terrified, delirious mind…?
He was waking calmly enough, even as he cautiously shifted his position again under the sheets. Kate just hoped that calmness would continue as, squeezing his hand, she softly called his name.
"Carson…? Carson, it's Kate… it's alright, Carson, you're safe now… you're going to be alright..."
In a strangely perverse way, his answering groan of discomfort caused her smile to excitedly widen. As he groaned once more, though, she grew instantly serious again, soothingly stroking his forehead.
"Aye, son, I know you're hurtin' like hell itself, but can ye hear me…? Carson, it's me, it's Kate… I'm right here beside ye, Carson… can ye hear me…? Carson…? Can ye squeeze my hand…?"
The feeble clench of his fingers that she felt in response may have come from the relief of recognition. Or, more likely, it had been an automatic reaction to the discomfort of returning awareness.
Guessing it to be the latter reason, Kate reached across to a small bowl on the table beside her. Squeezing excess water from the cloth within, she then pressed it gently across his forehead.
"Easy now, Carson, you're safe now… it's alright, Carson, you're home now… you're home…"
Roused by soothing coolness, and this gentle calling of his name, Carson gingerly opened his eyes. Blinking for a moment, they turned slowly towards her, frowning with the effort of concentration.
Those eyes were still barely open, though, making it difficult for her to gauge their depth of awareness So it was left to Carson's voice to faintly, and still so very sleepily, answer an entire city's prayers.
"'m… 'me…?"
The mask on his face had subdued that voice still further. But Kate had still heard all she'd needed. And she'd still managed to lipread the name which Carson's mouth now soundlessly formed beneath it. She was going to have to be quick, though, before those so heavily lidded eyes slid shut again.
Right on cue, as if subconsciously summoned, a dishevelled figure stirred on the bed alongside – the exhaustion on Laura's face lifting, magically and instantly, as Kate beckoned her forward.
"He's still very weak, lass… and he'll be goin' back to sleep again any minute…" she said at last – her smile daring to widen, just a little further, as the hopeful face in front of her her lit up in pure elation. "But there's a very sleepy wee Scotsman here, lass, wantin' to say hello to ye…"
The reaction was all she'd hoped for, as Laura practically vaulted the gap to Carson's bedside – her hesitant yearning met with another gentle Scottish smile as Kate patted her shoulder.
"It's alright, lass, ye can still touch him, an' hold him, if ye want to… just be very gentle with him…"
Nodding in understandably distracted agreement, Laura gently slid her arm under Carson's shoulders, holding him as close as tangles of monitor wires and IV tubes allowed. Everything, everyone else around her was now totally beyond her awareness as, painfully slowly, those precious blue eyes flickered towards her.
He was barely awake now, struggling against the crushing tiredness that had finally re-claimed him. But then a faint, unmistakeable voice answered not only her prayers, but those of an entire city – five days of terrifying uncertainty finally ended by just three weakly smiled, faintly whispered words.
"L – La'ra…? 'llo, l'ss…"