A/N:
Thanks for your wonderful reviews. And sorry for letting you wait for an update so long yet again! I'm drowning in my work at the moment, but keep your spirits up, after this one, only two more chapters to go – I think.
But to get the envy level up, tomorrow I'm heading off to FedCon to see Paul McGillion… :-)
As usual, TCB 0.5 did an amazing job at betaing the chapter – Thank you, kiddo!

XIII

If he had thought waking up from drug-induced sleep had been hard, he found that coming round after a medically induced coma was a whole other matter; although he suspected that his waking was purposefully delayed. The first thing he became aware of was a faint beeping sound and just before he sank back into oblivion, the familiar smell of disinfectant. When he briefly surfaced once again, he heard a low murmur underlying the constant beep. But soon his mind faded into nothingness. The slightest of touches brought him back to awareness with a start. A strange, detached feeling of discomfort ebbed through his brain as the darkness once more tightened its grip. This time however, the dull beeping followed him far into the mist.

When his awareness kicked in again, he directed his energy into focussing on all the distant sensations which penetrated the fog in his mind, and he finally managed to stay afloat. Desperately trying to cling to the sounds, the peaceful murmur slowly transformed into voices, seemingly coming from far away. He attempted to concentrate on the voices but they were still too faint to make out.

As time passed, he occasionally overheard shreds of conversations and recognized different speakers. Savouring every moment of awareness, realization slowly leaked through: He was still alive. And when they allowed him to wake up, this could only mean one thing, the immediate danger must have passed. A feeling beyond joy filled the small space of his existence, and he spent an eternity just listening to his friends: Sheppard and McKay's playful banter, Elizabeth and Teyla's calm presence, or Ronon's grim quietness, which always held an aura of strength. Lying there, attempting to keep the looming darkness at bay, he drifted on the verge of consciousness. Lacking any perception of time, it eluded him whether he remained in this state for hours, days or mere minutes.

"Hey", Rodney's attention shifted away from his exchange with John, "I think he just moved."

"Yeah, sure. You're only trying to distract me from the fact that this brilliant mind of yours can't come up with an appropriate return."

Had he been able to muster the strength, Carson would have burst out laughing at the remark.

"Look, there." Rodney pointed to the twitching corners of Beckett's mouth. "Do you believe me now?"

"Is something wrong, Colonel?" Jollet was immediately concerned upon seeing Sheppard and McKay intently looking at the CMO's face when he and a nurse entered the cubical to start the dialysis.

"I think he just moved", the astrophysicist informed the doctor cheerfully.

"Oh, that wouldn't surprise me at all", the bulky physician replied with a smile. "Dr Beckett is still quite out of it but he's been conscious for some time now."

"How would you know? And why didn't you tell us in the first place?" Rodney spat out, both annoyance and disappointment evident in his voice.

Dr Jollet simply shrugged before he moved to the head of the bed, where the pilot was lightly squeezing Carson's right hand and feigned exasperation, yet couldn't suppress a broad grin, "Seems like our good doc here has been eavesdropping for a while then. That's not very polite, you know."

Curious at how responsive his superior had become since he had checked last time, Jollet now directly addressed his patient. "Okay, Dr Beckett, how about joining the living again? Try to open your eyes." A frown appeared on the Scot's face but his eyes stayed closed.

"Now, you're almost there. Try a little harder this time. I'm sure you can do it", he pressed further. It took a moment before Carson's eyelids began to flutter.

"You're doing great! Come on, just a bit more of an effort and I'll let you rest again."

"C'mon, doc", Sheppard chimed in, "show us your pretty, baby blue eyes!" He had tightened his grasp on the good doctor's hand, spurring him on.

The furrows on the Scot's brow deepened in concentration, then sluggishly, he pried his right eye half open, only to immediately squeeze it shut again. A few seconds later the faintest shimmer of blue reappeared when Carson's eyelids lifted once more. With still partially closed eyes, he lazily blinked a few times, attempting to bring his blurry vision of vague shapes into focus. The first face his eyes settled on was Rodney's but recognition evidently lacked behind by some seconds. When Jollet spoke up, Beckett's gaze wandered from McKay to Sheppard, where it remained for a moment, before it moved on to his colleague.

"Dr Beckett, do you hear me? Listen, you are still on the vent…"

The exertion of keeping his eyes open against the profound exhaustion being too much for his weak body, the rest of Jollet's words was lost on him. Comprehension faded with his focus on the world as his glassy eyes drooped, and he slipped back into a peaceful slumber.

Satisfied with his patient's development, the physician remembered the task at hand and began to busy himself with connecting the dialysis machine. Bending down, he suddenly stopped in mid-movement, straightened and turned around to the men sitting comfortably in the visitor's chairs. "Gentlemen?" It was more of a request than a question really. Reluctantly John and Rodney took the hint and exited through the curtain.

When Sheppard and McKay wanted to return to their friend's side, the burly doctor barred the way. "Sorry, Dr Beckett needs some uninterrupted rest now", he stated raising his hand. Despite his apologetic phrase, his expression was earnest and held no real sympathy. "There's quite some strain in store for him. He will need all the strength he can gather." Ignoring the two men's irate stares, he explained, "As soon as he comes round again and the sedatives have worn off a bit more, we will begin to wean him off the ventilator. Given the amount of time he was in need of life support, this won't be a piece of cake for him and take a couple of hours. After all, we have to get him to start breathing on his own again, then we'll gradually decrease the assistance of the respirator and the supply of oxygen before…"

"Thank you for the very graphic description, Doctor!" McKay replied sarcastically, over-pronouncing every single word. "I don't think I needed to know in all that detail." Without any reverence at the mildly offended physician, he tugged at the colonel's sleeve and dragged him away out of the infirmary.

Trudging along, Sheppard offered no resistance. "What's the matter with you, Rodney?"

"Honestly, Sheppard, this French guy gives me a tension headache before I even see him. I mean why did he have to tell us this in the first place? Not to mention his extremely polite bedside manner. You know, Colonel, he's no better than this creepy Dr Biro with her hardly contained preference for dead bodies. Actually, I think they'd make a nice, gross couple; like 'The Munsters' visiting Atlantis."

"McKay!" The scientist came to a sudden halt as John refused to take only one more step.

"What?!"

xXxXx

With most of the pain medication out of his system, Carson was fully alert by now. In his right hand he was cradling the plush turtle, which he had found when his fingers had felt for the alarm button. Concentrating on breathing evenly and patting the turtle distracted him a bit from the considerable discomfort he felt, coming especially from the tube in his throat. When he had awoken completely at last, Dr Gitano had begun the weaning process. Starting to breathe on his own again had been a constant struggle at first, and it had weakened him rapidly, several times forcing him to succumb to relying on the ventilator once more. But he had fought his way back, and finally his progression had taken gigantic steps. Even though he was already breathing without the support of a respirator for some time now, he had remained intubated as a precaution should he not be able to keep up spontaneous breathing. Sure enough though, he was positive that very soon someone would come to pull the tube, thus ridding him from the burning sensation in his throat.

Beckett had been overjoyed to see his closest friends assembled around the bed as he had regained consciousness. It had given him the encouraging feeling that they hadn't left his side all this time, however long it might have been. For someone who had feared he'd never wake up again, getting the opportunity to rejoin with his surrogate family was heaven on Earth, or Atlantis for that matter.

Although they would provide constant support, later however, he had hoped they would simply leave him alone. But neither had he been able to express his wish, nor would he have brought it about himself to send them away. After all, they were his friends and meant well, and he appreciated their presence. But then, he also felt terribly ashamed and embarrassed for what poor an image he presented. He didn't want them to see him like this, struggling for every single breath while feeling miserable and sorry for himself. At one point, Sheppard had told him how proud they all were of him and his determination, his strength to pull through. Yet, he didn't feel strong at all, only weak and spent. He wanted to creep into the mattress and hide from the pain and the reassuring stares, retreat into oblivion. But the best part was yet to come. As a doctor he knew exactly what was going to happen when the breathing tube was pulled. He would cough and gag and lose the last bit of dignity he still possessed.

A few minutes afterwards, his expectations had not been disappointed when Dr Cole had appeared to extubate him at the beginning of her night shift. Carson was sure he had rendered a truly pitiful sight as the breathing tube had been removed. As soon as the coughing fit had subsided, defying his sore muscles, he had curled up on his right side, trying to ignore the fuss around him. Sam had gleed about how excellent his oxygen saturation was or the readout of his vitals and that the fever had broken some hours ago.

He hadn't even recognized his own voice when he had grunted something in the like of "tired". 'Yes, grunt was the right word to describe the sound of his voice, dark and rusty from the intrusion and lack of use. They all had looked slightly aghast and offended by his exclamation but had complied, eventually. On her way out, Cole had kissed him on the cheek; well actually, that part he hadn't minded so much.'

Now, with everybody gone, he allowed the mean façade to slip down. He hugged the plush pet tighter while soft sobs slowly made their way out from deep inside his soul. They ebbed away unheard and unheeded. His stifled emotions draining his quickly depleting strength even further, he soon sank into an uneasy but healing sleep.

All of a sudden, a heart-wrenching scream tore the fragile fabric of silence apart and bled into the darkness of the infirmary.

To be continued…

A/N2:
BTW, on 06/06/07 I reached 6,666 hits for my story. Thank you all!