The muffled roaring noise in Sheppard's ears was driving him insane. It felt like his ears were blocked, like a pressure imbalance at high altitude, and he kept yawning and trying to breathe out whilst pinching his nose in an effort to try and equalise the pressure. None of it made any difference but the sensation of his ears being blocked was so irritating that he couldn't help but keep trying. He was aware of Rodney, in the infirmary bed next to him, occasionally doing likewise. It didn't look like it was working any better for him.
The trip to the infirmary had been a nightmare – short though the gurney-ride was, it had left him pained and nauseous, every jolt of the wheels vibrating up through the metal frame to rattle his aching head and the rolling motion making his stomach churn. He'd rarely been so glad to get to the infirmary and he'd pushed himself upright almost before the gurney had even rolled to a complete stop, ignoring both the resultant pounding in his head and nurses' attempts to make him lie back down. With the nurses' scolding reduced to a muted, unintelligible buzzing, he had determinedly swung his legs over the side of the gurney and struggled to get to his feet, resolutely ignoring the hands that tried to halt his movements. It had been a battle of wills that the nurses, ultimately, had won but only by virtue of the fact that his knees had given way almost as soon as he slid his weight from the mattress. He'd hung on grimly to the edge of the gurney, staying upright mostly by sheer pig-headedness, and taken full advantage of his deafness to ignore whatever lecture a displeased-looking Carson had been trying to give him. Eventually, seeing that he was not going to be persuaded back onto the gurney, Carson had reluctantly hooked one of Sheppard's arms over his shoulder, having to almost pry his grip from the gurney, and struggled to keep him upright as they wobbled the few steps to a waiting infirmary bed.
Sheppard had used up pretty much the last of his energy to hoist himself up onto the bed and had slumped back against the pillows with what he was pretty sure was a groan.. though as he couldn't hear a damn thing he couldn't say for certain. He'd scrunched his eyes closed as his head had pounded enough to leave him dizzy and had only been marginally aware of hands unlacing and sliding off his boots whilst a blood-pressure cuff was inflated around his arm.
All Sheppard had wanted to do was maybe get something to take the edge off of the throbbing pain in his head and be left alone to sleep this off but it wasn't to be. Instead he'd had to endure being poked and prodded and having lights shone in his eyes – and hadn't that just done wonders for his headache – and being coerced into a set of infirmary scrubs. He'd put up a good fight, knowing full well that changing into scrubs meant at least an overnight stay in the infirmary and really, aside from the headache, he didn't feel that bad. A Tylenol or two and a good sleep and he'd be right as rain. Carson, however, hadn't agreed and, as useful an excuse as partial deafness was to be able to ignore whatever arguments Carson might put forth, the doctor's expression had made it quite clear, without the need for words, that John was not going to win this one. He'd acquiesced grumpily and had protested, apparently still talking at too high a volume from the way Carson had winced, when two nurses had hovered helpfully as Carson had handed him the hated scrubs. His protestations that a headache didn't make him an invalid had lost a lot of their credibility when trying to sit up in bed had made him lurch dizzily to one side, only Carson's quick reactions saving him from taking a header towards the floor, and he'd been surprised and annoyed to find that he really did need help getting out of his uniform. Bending over to unfasten his thigh holster had made his head spin and he'd had to sit back, feeling utterly frustrated and not a little embarrassed, and let a nurse do it for him.
The effort of stripping off his shirt and pants and shrugging into the white cotton scrubs, even with help, had left him feeling shaky and nauseous, perched on the side on the exam bed, breathing heavily through his mouth whilst a nurse turned down the sheets and Carson took the opportunity to poke and prod some more and to listen to his chest. It had been a relief when Carson was done and he could finally lie down again, even if he would have much rather been doing so in his own bed. His head had still been pounding and his stomach churning and no amount of swallowing and yawning would convince his ears to pop and stop aching so much. Carson had watched his discomfort with a knowledgeable eye and raised his voice to ask him if he was feeling nauseous. Even shouting, Carson's words had been faint and tinny but Sheppard had caught the meaning and, after thinking twice about nodding, had made do with a muttered, "Yes". Trying to talk without being able to hear himself properly was disconcerting, confusing, and he wasn't sure his answer had even been audible but Carson had seemed to hear him just fine, motioning to indicate that he'd be back in a moment. Sheppard had let his eyes drift close, nestling his head into the soft pillows that the nurses had piled up on the bed and trying to switch off from the angry pounding in his head.
He'd jerked to awareness, wincing as the motion jarred his head, at a cold, damp touch on his arm and found Carson grimacing in apology, a cotton swab in his hand. From the ensuing gestures and half-heard, shouted apologies, Sheppard had gathered that Carson had forgotten that, with his eyes closed, Sheppard would be able to neither see nor hear him coming and that Carson felt guilty for startling him. This sucked. They were reduced to playing charades in an attempt to communicate and Sheppard was way too tired, and feeling way too crummy, to find any amusement in the situation. Frustrated, he had waved away Carson's apologies and obediently held his arm still whilst Carson swabbed at a patch of skin and injected the contents of a small syringe. Further shouting and miming had explained that Sheppard was getting intravenous painkillers rather than tablets, in deference to his nausea, and that he should be feeling better before long.
Carson had carried on talking, his face showing the effort of shouting to make himself heard, and Sheppard had picked up enough words to understand something about perforated ear drums and to gather that it would heal in time and the deafness would be temporary. That at least was a huge relief. Less reassuring was a reference to more whales approaching the city and other people starting to be affected by the sonar. Carson would have explained more but the strain of concentrating on picking out the doctor's words from the roar of white noise wasn't helping Sheppard's headache and in the end he'd simply waved in agreement to whatever else Carson said, his interest in conversation waning rapidly. The painkillers had been starting to kick in but so far were barely taking the edge off the pain. Carson had hurried off, leaving the nurses to make sure John was settled before pushing back the privacy screens to reveal McKay propped up in the next bed over, a familiar expression of discontent on his face but already looking a whole lot better than he had in the jumper.
McKay had looked across as the movement of the screen caught his attention and, realising conversation was going to be pretty much impossible, he and Sheppard had settled for waving to each other, not a little self-consciously. More than anything, Sheppard had been relieved to see Rodney awake and aware and, presumably, not suffering from any too serious consequences from their unfortunate adventure with the whales. He had seen a glimmer of that same relief in McKay's face when movement had caught his eye and he'd looked up to see Radek and Elizabeth follow Carson into the room. Elizabeth had been full of smiles, her relief at finding the two of them not seriously harmed all too apparent on her face. She'd tried to say something, her words lost in the constant muffled roar that separated Sheppard from the rest of the world, and McKay had interrupted her, saying something about partial hearing loss in a voice that was loud enough that Sheppard could actually hear some of what he said. No wonder Radek, Carson and Elizabeth had cringed a little.
Sheppard had found himself giving up on trying to follow whatever Carson, Radek and Elizabeth were discussing. The noise and discomfort in his ears was distracting and his head was still aching, though not as much as before. He'd stared at the ceiling, feeling bored and frustrated as he yawned and pinched his nose repeatedly, trying unsuccessfully to clear the blockage. He'd paid attention again when a few words filtered through to him, looking across to find Rodney saying – well, almost certainly shouting – something, oblivious to the looks of pain on his audience's face. This was hopeless. John had turned his attention back to trying to clear his blocked ears, feeling ridiculously isolated by his inability to communicate. More tinny, indistinct words had reached him and he'd lifted his head from the pillow, unsure who had spoken and whether or not it concerned him, asking "What?" in what he hoped was a reasonable volume. The raised eyebrows had answered that question for him and the discussion, whatever it had been, had wrapped up pretty quickly after that, everyone apparently agreeing on the pointlessness of trying to hold any kind of conversation when two of the people involved couldn't hear a damn word you were saying.
That left him and Rodney alone in their little corner of the infirmary, the two of them in adjacent beds but unable to communicate. They'd shared a brief look as their friends abandoned them and John had turned his gaze back to the ceiling, settling his head back against the pillows. Since then, time had dragged. There was nothing to do, no-one to talk to – because no-one could talk with them without shouting – and really, the infirmary ceiling was not all that interesting. His headache still lingered but it was improving.. he only wished the same were true of his ears. The blocked sensation was not only irritating but also distinctly uncomfortable, verging on painful.
He was bored and uncomfortable and he really wanted to be just about anywhere but here. Sheppard was not good at doing nothing and this was just about his worst nightmare; stuck in the infirmary with nothing to occupy his time, feeling kinda crappy but not so bad that he really needed to be laying around in bed.. at least, not in his opinion. And really.. what good was bed rest going to do his perforated eardrums? They'd heal in time – and Sheppard would much rather spend that time somewhere else than in an infirmary bed. Say, in his quarters, for example. Or maybe, just maybe, trying to find some way to deal with this whale situation. Though, off-hand, he couldn't really think what contribution he could make to that right now; aquatic fauna was not really his area of expertise. Rodney, of course, was already working on the problem, having quickly grown impatient with being stuck in the infirmary and having badgered a nurse to fetch him a datapad. Sheppard had the feeling the poor woman had acquiesced just to get McKay to stop shouting.
Of course, Sheppard could probably have gotten someone to fetch him a datapad too.. but he probably couldn't contribute much to the research effort and even staring at the infirmary ceiling was a more appealing prospect that catching up on his paperwork. What he really wanted was to get the hell out of here. Really, his headache wasn't even all that bad anymore and, whilst the ear thing was annoying and uncomfortable, it wasn't exactly life-threatening. He hadn't felt dizzy or nauseous for a while now so things were already improving. He stared glumly at the ceiling and contemplated the prospect of spending the rest of the day and the long night ahead cooped up in here. It was a less than appealing thought. He wondered vaguely if he could convince Rodney to join him in a jailbreak. A nurse came and rummaged through a cabinet next to his bed, looking for god knows what, and a tiny hint of the noise of her search filtered through the static in his ears. His hearing was getting better too. There was really no need for him to be in the infirmary…
He sighed heavily, feeling more and more restless by the minute. "Pain's going away," he commented casually, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. His hearing was definitely better; he could hear his own words now, just about. "I think my hearing's getting better too. What 'bout you?" He rolled his head on the pillow, only to find Rodney utterly absorbed in his work, his fingers dancing across the datapad, apparently oblivious to John's question.
He frowned as he watched McKay work, unsure if Rodney was genuinely unable to hear him or just so wrapped up in his work that he wasn't paying attention. He tried again, raising his voice a little. "Rodney!" No response, not even a flicker. Frustrated, he turned his attention back to the ceiling but a glimmer of suspicion made him look back at McKay.
"Canadian football league's a joke," he tested. McKay continued tapping at the screen of his datapad, a frown of concentration on his face. Beginning to feel distinctly ignored, Sheppard thought for a moment and then tried again, watching closely for any hint of a reaction. "Celine Dion is over-rated." Nothing.
Sheppard raised his voice, "Zelenka is smarter than you are!"
"Hey!" For a moment Sheppard thought that he'd gotten through but then McKay carried on obliviously, his attention still focused on his datapad, and Sheppard breathed out in exasperation, turning his head on the pillow to gaze in frustration at the ceiling. "I found mention of a biolab in the database!"
Rodney was prattling on, something about the Ancients studying animal life, but he sounded excited about it and the important point, to John's mind, was that he wanted to check it out. And that would require being somewhere that was not the infirmary. Of course, it also meant exploring the city with a deaf Rodney McKay but every plan had its downsides. Sheppard couldn't resist one last dig. "Okay," he sighed, "Meredith."
McKay looked up from his datapad when Sheppard abruptly sat up in bed. The motion made John a little dizzy, though definitely not as bad as before, and he waited a moment until his head cleared. He was definitely getting better. He kicked the sheets aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
"What are you doing?" If Sheppard could hear McKay that clearly then his voice was probably far too loud and Sheppard shushed him exasperatedly. The coast was clear for the moment but if any of Carson's staff caught them making a break for it, there'd be hell to pay.
"You wanna check out this lab, don't you?" he asked pointedly, in what he hoped was a fairly subdued tone of voice. McKay looked at him blankly and, with a sigh of frustration, Sheppard resorted to charades, gesturing at the datapad on McKay's lap and at themselves before pointing significantly at the infirmary door. Sometimes, for a genius, Rodney could be real slow to catch on. Seeing realisation dawn on McKay's face, John slid carefully to the floor, keeping a careful hold of the bed until he was sure that his legs were going to hold him and that dizziness wasn't going to sucker-punch him and land him on the floor. So far, so good. McKay was already throwing back the bedsheets as Sheppard padded barefoot across the infirmary to peer around the corner and make sure the coast was clear. He returned to find that McKay had found where the nurses had left their clothes and belongings, conveniently folded into a pile with his thigh holster resting on top. He pulled his scrubs top over his head, only wobbling a little bit as he did so, and grabbed hold of his t-shirt. McKay glared at him pointedly, his uniform clutched protectively to his chest, until, with a roll of his eyes, Sheppard turned his back on the scientist, pulling on his t-shirt and exchanging scrubs pants for BDUs as quickly and quietly as possible. Bending down enough to get the pants legs over his feet made his head swim a little but he gritted his teeth and grabbed hold of the bed when he swayed a little. He found his boots shoved under the bed – bending down to snag them really didn't do his lingering headache much good – and, feeling just a little green, turned round to find McKay already fully dressed, though he still favoured Sheppard with an indignant glare for turning around without checking first. He gave the scientist an disdainful look that he hoped conveyed the concept of "Oh, grow up!" and gestured at him to go and keep an eye out while he put his boots on.
Sheppard was a man who learnt from his mistakes and he'd figured out pretty quickly that bending over really wasn't such a good idea right now so he ended up sitting on the bed with one leg pulled up in front of him on the mattress, leaning forward rather than down to work his boots onto each foot in turn and tie up the laces. It was awkward and it was uncomfortable but it was a lot better than ending up on his ass on the floor. He grabbed hold of his holster and hurried over to join an impatient McKay, wrapping the belt around his hips as he went. The coast appeared to be clear, no sign of any of Carson's staff, and he gestured silently to Rodney, indicating that they should head left out of the door, taking them on the shortest route out of the infirmary, avoiding the main treatment area.
Sheppard was still struggling to fasten the thigh straps on his holster as they turned a corner and found themselves faced with not only Beckett but Elizabeth too, apparently in the middle of a conversation. Dammit. Elizabeth was the first to notice them and her exclamation had Beckett turning around, regarding them sternly. His words were still a little muffled but the disapproving tone was clear. "Who said you could get out of bed?"
Feeling oddly like a naughty schoolboy caught red-handed by the teacher, Sheppard found himself glancing guiltily at his partner in crime before deciding to simply brazen it out. "We're feeling a lot better," he offered, trying to sound reasonable.
Carson's expression said he wasn't buying. "Well, I beg to differ. Back to bed the pair of you."
"Yeah, we need to check out a lab." Sheppard let Rodney deal with the explanations, his balance screwing about a little as he tried to finish fastening his holster; neither Elizabeth nor Carson looked too convinced. Sheppard pushed aside his dizziness and tried to sound as steady and as plausible as possible when he suggested that the lab might hold the key to them getting the whales to leave. On their short trip through the infirmary he'd noticed the growing number of occupied beds; it looked like the situation was worsening and rapidly.
"But we won't know that for sure until I can have a look at it," Rodney stated firmly and Sheppard watched Elizabeth share a significant look with Carson. He knew that Carson was only doing what he thought best, looking out for his patients, but sometimes the doctor couldn't see beyond his immediate patients to the bigger picture; sure Sheppard still had a headache and his balance was a bit iffy and his hearing wasn't great and Rodney was probably feeling exactly the same.. but they had much larger concerns right now than the two of them. The city was in trouble and he knew and Elizabeth knew and Carson knew that the only person that realistically had a chance of figuring this one out was Rodney.
Reluctantly, Carson gave an imperceptible shrug and gave in, a muttered "Alright," and a quick gesture over his shoulder giving them official permission to leave the infirmary. If the situation hadn't been so dire, John might have grinned; this was the first time he'd ever tried to sneak out of the infirmary and not gotten into trouble for it.
Wobbling just a little as he walked, rubbing distractedly at the ache in his ear, Sheppard followed Rodney out into the corridors of Atlantis, glad to be free of the infirmary and doing something useful. He could only hope that this biolab would provide the answers they were looking for; from what he'd seen in the infirmary, it looked like they were running out of time.
Fin.