Left Behind
Chapter 7: Results

The next time Kevin awoke, he was feeling a little better—a sudden weight lifted off his shoulders; he had never said what he had said to Michael to anyone, because he had never had anyone before. But once again he spotted Michael in the chair next to his bedside, his arms crossed over his chest and his chin resting against it with his eyes closed.

Kevin knew that it must have been killing Michael to be sitting in that chair, sleeping in that chair; and Kevin felt a little guilty that he was glad that Michael was still there. He was starving, but by the stubble and light bruises under Michael's eyes, he knew that the man had barely slept; probably hardly leaving Kevin's bedside, only when he was asleep.

His stomach rumbled lightly as he scratched at the bandage beneath his gown. The stitches were itchy and they burned, pulling whenever he took a deep breath. His heart hurt, and Kevin knew that it wasn't because of hurt feelings or the fact that his chest had been sliced open and his rib cage torn apart—but had everything to do quite literally with his physical heart.

"Stop picking." Michael told him, causing Kevin's heart to painfully start.

"I can't help it." Kevin told him, ignoring the pain.

"You can help it," Michael said, opening his eyes and looking at Kevin. "And you'll stop."

Kevin gave a slightly exasperated sigh, but his hand dropped from his chest and fell limp at him side. "I'm so hungry," he complained, forcing himself to sit up despite the pain and strain.

Michael sent him a look that clearly said that he disproved, but Kevin couldn't stand it any longer.

"I'll find Dr. Beckett." Michael said, standing up from his chair and walking through the opening in the curtains.

Kevin cursed; did he just piss Michael off? He couldn't believe it, his first friend and now everything was screwed up because of something so trivial. Kevin's heart beat painfully in his chest, it felt kind of sluggish and as if someone was squeezing it—like sometimes there was that second where you're sure that your heart must have stopped for some reason or another. There was a warning beep from the monitor at his side, and Kevin squeezed his eyes shut; demanding that his heart cut it out before Michael and the doctor came back.

He opened his eyes just as Beckett came through, minus Michael.

"How are we feeling today, Captain?" the doc asked as he checked the monitors.

"Where's Michael?" Kevin asked instead, trying to lean around Beckett as he came over and slid Kevin's left arm from the gown; exposing his bandaged chest.

"I sent him to find you something to eat,"

Kevin felt the anxiety leave him; Michael was coming back.

Beckett pealed the bandage away from his chest, and probed the tender skin around the stitched incision. "Any discomfort?"

"It hurts." Kevin told him bluntly.

"That's to be expected," Beckett said, finally pulling back. "It's going to be tender around the stitched area for a while; you'll feel better once the stitches are out."

Kevin shook his head though. "It's not the incision that hurts, Dr. Beckett, it's my heart."

Beckett stared at him for a long moment before he turned and peeked his head through the curtains. "Nurse, bring me the ultrasound." moments later a nurse popped in and left a portable ultrasound. "How long have you had this pain?"

"I'm not sure; I was too out of it and tired to really notice it before."

Beckett nodded as he turned on the machine and placed the end of the controller over his heart, moving it as lightly as possible as to not pull the stitches. Kevin could hear his heart beat and it sounded off; the expression on Beckett's face as he looked at the picture wasn't helping either.

Kevin swallowed. "What's wrong with it?"

Beckett took the controller back and placed it the hook as he turned the machine off, and turned to Kevin. "When you were shot, the wound was major; by the time you got here, you barely even had a pulse—at one point your heart even stopped. The bullet damaged one of your heart's valves, tearing it. Atlantis isn't equipped for that type of surgery, but we managed to get it patched up."

"So what does that mean?" Kevin asked, his voice slightly panicked.

Beckett stared at him again for a moment; his eyes gentle. "Because of the damage caused, your heart now pumps irregularly; the intake of oxygenated blood differs from that that is pumped throughout your body. Your heart is damaged; Captain, it's unpredictable and you can drop at a moments notice."

Kevin stared, his face even paler as Beckett put the bandage back over the wound.

"I've informed Colonel Carter of the situation—" Beckett started but Kevin had cut in.

"You haven't told this to anyone else, have you?" Kevin asked.

The doctor shook his head. "That is your decision to make." Beckett said, helping Kevin back into the gown. "Now I want you to eat and get some rest, Captain." he said as he wheeled the cart from through the curtains; his tone of voice saying that there was to be no fooling around on the matter.

What did this mean for him? If his heart was no good, then he was no good. He buried his face in his hands, his eyes squeezed shut as he forced the sudden tears away; he was not going to cry again. He couldn't show weakness, he was already broken on the inside enough. If he cried now, then he knew that it would be too hard to stop.

Kevin took a deep, deep breath, lifting his head just in time because Michael came through the curtains with a tray in his hands. Kevin watched as Michael set the tray on a little table before he swung it around in front of Kevin. He pulled his chair close before he sat.

Kevin stared at the tray; a steaming bowl of broth, a packaged sandwich, an orange juice, two bottles of water and a yogurt. He had been hungry, he was still actually hungry now but he had lost his appetite if that were even possible.

"What's wrong?" Michael asked, noticing Kevin's demeanor.

"Nothing." Kevin shook his head, picking up the soup's spoon.

Michael didn't buy it, and Kevin knew it. Michael took a half of the sandwich and leaned back in his chair, taking a bite.

Kevin couldn't tell Michael now, couldn't really seem to at the moment. Kevin had just gotten here, and had just befriended Michael—Kevin straightened with the realization; Michael wasn't just his acquaintance anymore, but his friend. His first friend in his whole life, and . . . What was going to happen now?

Kevin looked at Michael, taking a breath he spoke, "There's something that I should have said the second that I woke up."

"And what's that?"

"Thank you, and it's not you fault."

Michael opened his mouth but Kevin spoke before he could.

"I know that you think that this is somehow your fault, Michael, but it's not. Neither of us could have predicted something like that ever going down—and quite frankly, I'm glad that it was me and not you."

"That's a stupid thing to say!" Michael told him, his voice hard. "I would have preferred no one getting shot except for that Genii."

"But it did happen, Michael, and it's fine." Kevin told him, his voice low with an edge of emotion.

"It's not fine, Kevin; you could have been killed." Michael said in the same tone of voice as Kevin's.

"I refuse to let you do that, Michael. The other guy is dead and I'm alive and I'm fine."

The last part was a lie of course; he was alive but he wasn't fine, not completely—his heart was damaged and who knew what kind of collateral it would cause. Hopefully, Michael would buy it for now because Kevin knew that he couldn't lie to him forever.

To prevent further conversation, Kevin started in on his soup; the hot liquid turning to lead as it hit the bottom of his stomach—future dread with some guilt mixed in filling his newly damaged heart.