Mckay stared at the computer screen in front of him and reached out blindly to grab for his coffee. As soon as he took a sip, he spat it back into his mug with a disgusted expression and looked around the lab to find someone to go refill it. This time with hot coffee. The lab was quiet and even though there were a few other scientists milling about working he couldn't quite summon enough energy to instruct one of them to get him more caffeine. He toiled with the idea of getting some more himself; that way he could swing passed Sheppard's room and just poke his head in. After all, he was responsible for injuring him, so he was doing his teamly duty by making sure he was okay.
An image of Carson with a big needle stalled that idea.
Becoming friends with Sheppard had accustomed him to feeling guilt. Not something that he was entirely familiar with. He didn't even know what had made him push Sheppard out of the way. It wasn't as if he was brave, but some of Sheppard's self sacrificing heroics must have rubbed off on him because he hadn't even thought about what he was actually doing. It's not like he was even intending to fight off what was coming out of the trees. He just…pushed Sheppard out of the way and planned to follow him. Only, he saw the drop behind the trees as he went through the tree line and watched helplessly as Sheppard tumbled downwards.
Sheppard had landed awkwardly and shouted an angry, "Rodney!" but then he had still got up, showed no sign of injury, primed his P90 and was heading back up the slope to his defence. Nothing stopped the man. He was bruised and battered and still he was managing to command and berate Rodney at the same time. It was only when they were heading back to the gate did Sheppard actually start to hold his side and look like he was in discomfort.
Mckay reached up to his earpiece and then thought better of it. Guilty or not, he could apologise in the morning with pudding from the commissary.
-------------------
Nobody was coming. Pride didn't even want anyone to find him. But the truth of the matter was that he was actually screwed.
Sheppard tried to assess the damage as he lay in the dark and all his mind could focus on was the fact that he was soaked through with potentially germ infested water and that he had just committed a comedy act worthy of endless ridicule. After all Beckett had warned him about and he had just slipped. It was stupid, senseless and pathetically ironic. He'd never live it down if he survived this.
He experimentally wiggled his fingers and toes and was relieved when they moved, even if they did feel completely disconnected from his body. His elbow was stinging and as he tried to lift it, he could feel something warm and sticky there which he knew had to be blood. He'd just fallen onto glass. He wouldn't have expected anything less with the luck he was having. Which brought his mind back to the water. What if it wasn't just water? The thought made him feel sick. Even worse than slipping in his own room after countless warnings from Beckett, was the thought that he might get an infection from the fetid water that was surrounding him.
He could hear the conversation in his head as he lay there.
"Why are you in the infirmary Colonel?"
"Oh I slipped on some water in my room and got infected by faecal bacteria. Yes…it is eating away at my flesh."
Sheppard mentally ripped that image out of his brain and tried to focus on what was really important.
The most concerning aspect of his situation was his breathing. Every intake of breath seemed to fall short and even the pain meds couldn't mask the twinge that strafed across his chest. If his ribs weren't broken before, they certainly were now.
"Shit," he tried to move and found the effort utterly exhausting.
His mind was screaming that "this wasn't good." And Sheppard would be inclined to agree with himself. He knew from experience that rib injuries could complicate easily.
"I shouldn't have got up this morning," he said into the darkness.
It was more to keep himself alert than a vain hope that someone would hear him. His room was out of the way and you didn't walk past it unless you really had to. It was the reason he had chosen it in the first place. With the benefit of hindsight, it was a stupid decision.
Concentrate.
His thoughts were sluggish and his movements were sloppy and uncoordinated. It was hard to find purchase on the slippery floor and instead of getting remotely upright he just squirmed, cursed some more and then dropped his head back onto the floor.
To add insult to injury, he was still thirsty.
--------------
Mckay deliberately walked past Sheppard's room and didn't stop. Okay, so he did stop very briefly but then he pushed onwards because Sheppard didn't deserve his apology. He had been rude and irritable and saying that he had disappointed him was just wrong on so many levels. How many times had Mckay risen to a crisis and got their collective posteriors out of trouble? Countless times.
The very fact that Mckay even considered apologising to him seemed laughable as he entered the transporter.
How could he have disappointed him? And why did he even care? He was Rodney Mckay. Rodney Mckay cared for number one; at least, that's what he had been led to believe by others for so many years.
He entered the commissary and was surprised to find Teyla and Ronon sitting in the corner.
He grabbed a coffee and slunk down into a seat beside them halting any conversation they might have been having.
"What are you guys doing up so late?"
Teyla leaned forwards and was about to speak when Mckay continued regardless.
"So I guess you heard about our little mishap off-world? It wasn't my fault."
Mckay reached forwards to pick up one of the bagels that were positioned between them and Ronon's hand clamped down onto his.
"I heard you pushed Sheppard down a hill." The tone of his voice was chiding, a feat which Mckay wouldn't have even thought possible.
"How is the Colonel?" Teyla asked.
Mckay sighed and rocked back in his chair, "He's fine. He didn't fall far."
"From what I heard, you did a real number on him," Ronon reached for a bagel and tore a piece off it before shoving into his mouth.
"Hey, it's not like I beat him up. You regularly beat the crap out of him."
"That's called sparring."
"You dislocated his thumb a few months back."
Ronon shrugged, "He didn't block properly."
"Look, I don't know why everyone is getting so hung up with the fact that I pushed him. I didn't see the hill. Anyway, you weren't there. How was the mainland by the way? Did you manage to get anymore of that tea?"
Teyla met his gaze and smiled softly, "I'm sure Colonel Sheppard will make a swift recovery."
Mckay waved away her concern, "Yes, yes….the tea?"
"Yes Rodney. We got some more tea."
"Good, because it helps me sleep."
Teyla yawned and arched her back.
"Why are you up again?" Mckay sloshed some of his coffee into his mouth.
"I could not sleep." Teyla seemed to look slightly embarrassed.
Ronon shared a look with her and dropped his bagel, "She says something feels off."
Teyla regarded him with a curt look, "Yes, I do."
Mckay sat bolt upright, "Not the wraith?"
"No," Teyla shook her head and seemed to be clearing away any tiredness, "No, just…….I cannot explain it. Something doesn't feel right."
"I'm sure its nothing," Mckay answered quickly.
"She's worried about Sheppard," Ronon clarified.
Mckay wasn't surprised. They had always been close, not in a way that Sheppard would open up to her, not even in a romantic way, but they had an understanding.
"Ronon."
"Sheppard's fine. He's all tucked up in bed. Carson made sure of that." Mckay checked his watch and wondered whether Sheppard was really in bed or whether he would be sitting up and trying to adjust the rota for the next week. He had a habit of disregarding medical advice at the best of times and Mckay knew that if he wasn't already sat up in bed with a laptop, he would be covertly trying to organise the security of Atlantis while he was out of action.
"Yes," Teyla nodded, "I'm sure you are right."
"We could always go and check. Even if he's in bed, he won't be asleep," Mckay checked his watch and said, "Usually by now he would be doing his last sweep around the city."
Teyla seemed to consider the idea, but just as quickly disregarded it, "No. I'm sure it's nothing." She stood up and rubbed at her neck, "Good night."
----------------------
The pain meds were making it difficult to concentrate. He needed to stay focused because he had a feeling that the situation he was in, although outwardly comedic, was inwardly very serious. His breathing was definitely getting worse and his vision was beginning to speckle with white dots. He had been trying to stave off unconsciousness for as long as he could because he needed to move. If he could just get to his earpiece then he could radio for help and this would all be over. It wasn't that straightforward. Every time he tried to move it felt as if someone was plunging a knife into his side.
He felt helpless. It wasn't a feeling he was used to and if he could draw comparison to a time when he did, then all he had to do was think about earlier when Mckay had pushed him out of the way.
No, focus! He had to stop letting his thoughts interfere with what he was trying to do, and that was moving. If he stayed here any longer then his body was going to shut down on him. He was already starting to feel cold and was shivering as the cool air of his room caught on his skin.
"Hey!" he called out into the darkness.
Who was he kidding? Nobody was going to hear him.
He was going to die here. No. He shook his head to eliminate that thought and regretted the move instantly. He'd banged his head pretty hard and it just served to fuel his every growing headache. Not only that, but it made him feel nauseous. Throwing up while he was laying flat on his back was not an option.
"Hey!" The effort of shouting out left him choking for air and as he dragged in one ineffectual breath after another, his vision greyed and he could hear the rush of blood in his ears.
"This is damn right problematic," he slurred.
He had to get to his earpiece. Radio for help. If he could just-………….he sank back down to the wet floor again and slammed his fist into the ground. This was all Mckay's fault. If he hadn't tried to save him from nothing then…..no…….it wasn't the time to be thinking about that. It was the time to act. He had to act because nobody was going to come in and rescue him. He had to help himself and that meant that he had to get up and get to his earpiece.
With one deep breath, he pulled his arms back and pressed his weight down onto them to push himself up. His arms were shaking and he managed to get up onto his uninjured elbow.
He gasped as something in his chest moved and at the same time his breathing seemed to get worse. It felt as though all of the air was rushing out of him, like he couldn't get enough oxygen.
His vision was swimming; he tried to turn and reached out with arm towards his side table as if by merely thinking it, he could get over to his radio.
The white dots were swarming, the darkness of the room overtook him and he collapsed back down onto the wet floor.
-----------------------
Okay, so Carson was probably going to kill him. Mckay had decided to go back to his lab, but he had made a little detour, a detour that had led him to stand right outside of Sheppard's door. He didn't even know why he was there. He just felt like he needed to apologise. For what, he wasn't really sure. For trying to save the mans life? For pushing him? It's just that he had never seen Sheppard so angry, well…if he discounted the whole Doranda affair, apart from that Sheppard had never looked so hurt before. He just couldn't put his finger on it.
He blamed Teyla and Ronon and the way that they had looked at him.
He depressed the bell and cringed inwardly at the thought of Sheppard waking up, dragging himself out of bed while he was in pain, talking to him while he was as high as a kite on pain meds and not really aware of it and then getting ratted out to Beckett.
Only, the door didn't slide open to reveal a dishevelled looking Colonel, it remained closed.
----------------------
Something stirred Sheppard from unconsciousness and it took a minute before he remembered why he was lying flat out on his back with a tight band across his chest. He pulled in a shallow breath and continued to lie in silence.
Something had woken him up. His thought processes were less precise, he was slow to realise that it actually meant someone was outside.
He managed to twist his head and could see a shadow under his door. He opened to his mouth to speak and was surprised when his voice was non-existant. He cleared his throat, could taste blood, and called out in a raspy voice.
------------------
Mckay was about to depress the bell again when his earpiece activated and one of his science staff started to blab on about one of the devices they had found and a strange sound it was emitting.
"I leave you people alone for one second and you try and destroy everything in sight. Really, am I working with a bunch of clowns?" Mckay raised his voice over the sound of the whining in the background and placed his other finger in his ear to try and concentrate on the scientist's voice.
-------------------
"Well try turning it off! Who even activated it?"
Sheppard could hear Rodney outside his door and he smiled faintly. Finally, somebody was going to find him and end his misery.
He licked his lips and tried to get his words out, "Rod…ney!"
"You're all idiots." The voice boomed through his door and Sheppard had never been so happy to hear Mckay whining.
Sheppard tried to move and found his atrophied limbs unresponsive, "Rodney!"
"Fine." The voice was slightly muffled but he could hear him, so why couldn't Mckay hear him. "I'm coming."
"No," Sheppard tried to get up despite great pain, "Rodney, hear me."
"Just don't touch anything else."
Sheppard groaned and tried to reach out for something, anything to throw at the door to get Mckay's attention.
He moved his arms blindly and his shaking hand connected with one of his boots.
"Ha!" Sheppard muttered in triumph.
He wrapped one of his fingers around the boot and flung it at as hard as he could, but by the time it connected and made a solid thud sound, the shadow had moved from beside the door and he realised sadly that Mckay had already gone and that he was alone once more.
--------------------
He'd been lying there for hours. He could tell. Just by the way the moonlight was moving across his room. His breathing had worsened but the pain had gone which was no consolation because he knew that was bad. It meant that his body was shutting down on him. He turned his head to his side and coughed as something pooled at the back of his throat. He felt like he was drowning. His own body suffocating him in periodical spasms.
It was hard to stay awake. The intangible thread of unconsciousness kept tugging at him.
He wanted to laugh. This had all started with a squirrel. Mckay trying to save him from a squirrel. The situation, if he thought about it, was funny but his reasoning behind being angry wasn't. Maybe he should have explained that to Rodney instead of just of lashing out. It wasn't really about him pushing him out of the way to protect himself. It was the fact the Mckay had become willing to do that for him. As much as he hated to admit it, and he really did, he had grown kind of fond of Mckay in a "I want to kill you, you're like the brother I never wanted" kind of a way. He had come close to someone, only for them to be prepared to die for him. Why become close to someone at all if they were just going to up and leave you or die eventually?
He liked the distance, he liked the impenetrable barrier that he used to have in place, he liked his cold calculated side because at least he wasn't relying on anyone but himself. If he died, no big deal, if someone he had let get remotely close died-. He cut the thought off prematurely.
Pain medication. It made him think like this, made him vulnerable, too vulnerable. He needed to compartmentalise. This wasn't the time.
"No," he told himself firmly and his voice came out as a whisper.
No. He had to stay focused. He couldn't think about why he was angry. He couldn't because then he would have to admit why he was angry and he didn't have time to relive the past.
-------------------------
Sheppard hadn't even considered the repercussions as he pulled out of his assigned flight path. The extraction team were taking too long to make a decision and while they sat on their asses and talked strategy, a good man, the last of his living friends was lying out in the middle of enemy territory.
He wasn't defying orders; he was just exercising a little initiative.
He was supposed to be sweeping the north border, mapping the ground below him and then taking new tactical data back to base. Only, he had heard the developments over the radio, held out as long as he could and decided while he was in the area where Holland had supposedly disappeared, he'd be damned if he was just going to fly home.
His rear rotor had been taken out by an RPG. A lucky shot. He managed a semi-controlled landing in which one of his ribs cracked and jumped out before all hell broke loose and his chopper burst into flames. Adrenaline was fuelling him and before he knew what was happening he was running off in the direction of Holland's last sighting.
Their Chopper had gone down too. It was only dumb luck that Sheppard hadn't been with him in the first place. They'd trained together. Flew most of their missions together. Played leisurely games of poker together in which Sheppard always won. Counting cards might have had something to do with it. That morning, a new batch of recruits were assigned and Holland had drawn the short straw to take the newbies out on their first reccie. Sheppard hadn't envied him.
When Sheppard had heard over the airwaves that he had dropped off the radar, he had felt a surge of panic.
Sheppard, against horrendous odds, had managed to locate Holland. He was alone, injured and hiding out in an old downed chopper.
They'd made a good attempt reaching the border, walked for hours and hours through the sweltering desert heat. They were both dehydrated with only two 9 mils and a P90 between them. They talked, tried to keep each other going, shared things that would never be spoken of again. For all intents and purposes, it looked like they were going to make it.
Only, they had been surprised. One insurgent had followed them.
Sheppard was holding Holland up, supporting him on his crooked leg as he tried to reposition his weapon.
They had reached the top of a sandy ridge, their base not much further. It had been within their grasp. They had made it.
Sheppard had been goading Holland to hurry up, still trying to get him motivated at the mention of buying the first three rounds in Khandhar, when the insurgent had held up a gun and pulled the trigger.
Sheppard, in that split second, had shared a look with Holland that said "Don't do it!"
And that bastard! Holland stepped in front of him and rammed into him, catching him off-guard in his bruised side.
Sheppard had lost balance when their equilibrium changed and tumbled down the sandy ridge. He caught a glimpse of Holland as he collapsed in the sand above him.
Holland was screaming for him to get the hell out of there.
Sheppard was frozen in place by a mixture of disbelief and outright stubbornness. If he ran he was leaving Holland to the enemy.
He had no choice. He ran.
Sheppard stared up at the ceiling and felt his eyelids fluttering as his heart rate slowed and he grew colder. He couldn't move. He felt paralysed, peaceful even, he felt as if he was dying.
Breathing was a struggle. He was so incredibly tired. He was trying to work out how long he had been lying there when an urgent beeping sound roused him.
His watch.
It was morning.
Time to get up.
