A/N: Okay, well, here there be whumpage! And quite a bit of angst as well. I had planned to write this last week, but then the water pump in my car literally blew up, and so I got somewhat…shall we say?…distracted. It was not a good week. But things are better now, and I finally got this chapter written. It does have some reference to my other fic ("Iron String") in it, but I still think you're okay if you haven't read it.
As usual, I'm so grateful for all of your reviews. It's pretty insane the way I start looking for them immediately after I post. I never have time to respond individually to you guys, but every word gets read…and read…and read again!
As usual, I feel the need to say that I'm not a doctor in any sense of the word, so there are probably medical discrepancies here. Sorry about that, but it's just the way my reality is.
Hope you all enjoy it.
Em
The Weight of an Oath – Part 10Rodney knew he was acting unreasonably, but he couldn't help himself. There was just something about being held captive and having his best friend experimented on that made him feel on edge. And the memory of their recent, almost failed escape attempt that had only been resurrected by some authoritative words and excellent acting by Torca also didn't help his frame of mind much, nor did the semi-conscious form of the aforementioned best friend that was limply pressed against him.
So who could blame him for protesting when Beckett had asked him…no, ordered him…to have a look-see under Sheppard's shirt? Doctoring still wasn't part of his job description, and he had already cleaned up vomit. Wasn't that enough? Hadn't he done enough?
Apparently not, because although the last thing he wanted to do was to look at the thing that was causing his friend such pain, he was being forced to do just that.
Pulling up the shirt was easy enough, but looking at the ugly wound that was underneath it wasn't. As Rodney moved to take a closer look and recognized that whatever the wound was, it couldn't be good, he didn't even realize that he was speaking aloud. All he knew was that Sheppard was in even more trouble than they all had originally thought.
Beckett asked him what he saw, and as he tried to put a description together, the car jostled again. He felt Sheppard slump even further into him and saw that his friend had yielded to unconsciousness. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
He tried to ignore the Colonel's now fully unconscious weight, but frenzied worry made that job difficult. He made a concerted effort to pull himself together and somehow managed to find the necessary words.
"There's a wound, almost like a huge sore. It's…it's all along his side. Most of it is swollen, and it looks inflamed, and it's…it's…leaking fluid of some sort. Could be…god…it could be…uh…pus, but I'm not sure." Rodney spoke the words in a hurried rush that didn't completely dispel the nausea he was experiencing and then gently turned down the shirt to cover the awful sight. He studied Sheppard's haunted, pale face and fought back a sudden rush of despair.
This couldn't be happening. They had gotten him back from that terrible ordeal with the Aurora only weeks ago, and this just was not fair. He remembered the painstaking strides Sheppard had made to overcome the depression that had been brought on by the affliction from the Aurora's pods, remembered the frustration the man had experienced from the memory loss caused by the appalling treatment. In fact, during one of their recent chess games, Sheppard had confided to Rodney that the memory loss still plagued him, and that he was troubled by his belief that knowledge of some recent events would never be anything more to him than black and white words on a military report.
It had been an uncharacteristic admission, and Rodney had since found himself dwelling on its occurrence. He had been flattered that Sheppard had seen fit to entrust him with the information, but at the same time, he couldn't help but worry at its manifestation. The entire incident had disturbed him, and he still hadn't figured it out.
He felt that a reasonable explanation for the conversation happening had been that his friend was still experiencing bouts of depression, and so, out of concern, he had been planning on asking Sheppard about the confession. But Rodney was anything but a people person, and he had never figured out a way to broach the subject.
And now it looked as if he wasn't going to be given the chance.
An urgent voice shook him from his distracted thoughts, and he looked up as Beckett was desperately trying to get a point across.
"Torca, we need to stop now," the doctor was saying. "I need to take a look at that wound."
"It is too dangerous," Torca said, insistently. "We are not yet out of the city."
"It will just take a moment, lass."
Rodney saw Torca glare at the doctor via the reflective surface that wasn't a glass rear-view mirror but which appeared to share in the purpose. Finally, she nodded her head in reluctant agreement, and he felt the car slowly decelerate. He followed Teyla out of the vehicle and stood away as Beckett moved into their side of the back seat. Carson took less than a minute to study Sheppard and then exited the car with a grim face.
"Alright, I need to stay on this side of him so that I can monitor that wound. Rodney, why don't you sit on the Colonel's other side? Come on now, before we get noticed."
"What is it?" Rodney asked, feeling helpless.
"Just get in the car, and I'll explain. Go on now, hurry."
After they had all re-entered the car, and Torca had continued their wild ride through the city, Beckett began his explanation.
"The ulceration itself is a severe auto-immune response, similar to the one on his right arm," he said bleakly. "His skin has a high percentage of cells expressing the Aratus proteins, and now immune cells are moving in to destroy them. At the science facility I was able to bandage up his arm, so the skin there is, as yet, uninfected. Unfortunately, the onset of the ulceration that is on his side must have happened in the hours between my first exam and our escape. It's filled with an infection that has in all likelihood spread to the dermis of his right side. The swelling and inflammation is liable to be quite painful and explain his reaction to being jostled around."
"What does that mean, Doctor?" Teyla asked. Despite his own desperate panic, Rodney was able to note that the usually tranquil Athosian also seemed somewhat taken back by events.
"Well, it's a pretty serious infection," Beckett said. "It's going to need lancing very soon, and I'm afraid that now I'm going to have to take a chance on a few of the Netharian medications. And the rapid onset of such extensive damage and the consequent infection is indicative of how occupied his immune system is with attacking the cells expressing the alien protein. We need to get back to Atlantis so that I can slow down this auto-immune response, but I have to treat this abscess first."
"So you're saying that he's not going to make it to the Stargate?" Ronon gruffly asked from his position in the car's front seat.
"I'm afraid not without some medical intervention," Beckett said. "Torca, is there some place safe where we can stop? Some place where we can spend just a couple of hours so that I can treat him?"
Torca seemed to consider the question carefully. From his new position behind the Netharian woman, Rodney could just make out her troubled expression from the reflective non-mirror. The woman's face bore a complex mixture of fear, guilt, and surprisingly, sadness, but as he watched, she cleared her expression and all that remained was a resolute regality.
"Yes, I think there is a place," she finally said.
Her news did little to settle the disquiet that Rodney felt. Fear had lodged itself in his throat, and he did not think that he would be speaking around its strangling grasp anytime soon. With uncharacteristic silence that was not missed by his teammates, he turned away from Sheppard's pale face. As he stared out the window with eyes that did not fully see the scenery outside, he realized that he would do almost anything to alleviate some of the man's pain. With a strong and sudden pang of emotion, he wished he was sagging with unconsciousness and breathing in too fast bursts instead of the strong Air Force Colonel who had befriended him.
He tried to make a sarcastic comment, but it died in his throat, crushed by the fear that had found a place there.
He tried to take some comfort from the fact that the man was breathing at all but wasn't entirely successful.
He closed his eyes and grasped his ailing friend's hand instead.
888
The out-of-place sound of crunching gravel thrust John back to consciousness with an involuntary lurch that sent waves of pain crashing through his side. Two strong arms responded by tightly gripping his knees and shoulders, and he pressed the right side of his face into fabric that carried a not unpleasant, pungent scent. He breathed through the pain for a moment before opening his eyes and finding himself staring at what had to be Ronon's chest. The rolling motion that assailed him was a telltale sign that the Satedan was carrying him and not in any manly way. Weakly turning his head so that he now faced a star-filled, nighttime sky, he realized that the ex-Runner was carrying him as one would a small child...or a medieval lady in distress.
"Ronon?" He gasped and just barely managed a harsh, questioning look. He noted that the oxygen mask had been removed and that a heavy weight in his chest made it difficult for him to catch his breath. He tried to ignore the constraining feeling and instead maintained his irritated glare.
"Hey, it's not my idea of a good time either. You're not exactly my type, you know." Ronon's dryly humorous yet appropriate response to Sheppard's unvocalized question was a tribute to how well the big man's personality meshed with the rest of the team's. "Beckett wants me to be careful when carrying you, and this seemed the best way."
"I can…walk," Sheppard wheezed out in a manner that he hoped conveyed sufficient indignation.
"Yeah, not going to happen," Rodney said from somewhere behind his head. The physicist's voice sounded broken and contained little of anything that Sheppard considered typical of the man's acerbic nature.
"I don't…where…are…we?" Sheppard asked. He squirmed around in Ronon's arms as he attempted to catch sight of anything familiar, but the sudden movement hurt him badly. He caught a dizzying image of a burned out building and heard Teyla say something about Torca before he again descended into unconsciousness.
888
The next time he woke, he was lying on his back in what had to be one of the dustiest and largest rooms he had ever seen. His team surrounded him, blocking his view, but he was able to make out the dull gleam of a once ornately decorated marble floor as well as tarnished columns that connected to a high, crystal ceiling. It looked like a ballroom to John, and though it carried an air of disuse, he could easily imagine the grandeur and elegance that had once spun and twirled upon its magnificent dance floor.
But now the floor was nothing more than a dusty, aged surface that was cold despite the blanket that had been placed between John's body and the cool marble. He shivered in response to the chilled air and realized, with alarm, that he was bare-chested.
He found himself staring up at Ronon as the man kneeled above him and pressed his upper body into the hard surface of the floor. Ronon looked unhappy but resolute, and Sheppard took some comfort from the big warrior's expression. Teyla and Rodney were harder to see since they were hunched near his feet. Each had a restraining grasp on one of his legs. He blinked slowly and tried to make sense out of what was happening. He turned to see Beckett beside him, holding a syringe. The doctor was saying something, but John could not understand any of his words.
He coughed as the ubiquitous dust entered his lungs, and he was too weak to fight against the mask that was suddenly forced onto his face. Beckett hovered over him, but he was now talking to a small woman. Carson seemed unhappy and almost angry with her. She bit her lip in an exquisite way and then said something incomprehensible.
He closed his eyes against the unfathomable scene but opened them when a gentle hand wiped away moisture from his face. The beautiful and tiny woman lingered over him and smiled sadly. He wanted to erase the sorrow that marred the beauty of her face, but Ronon's weight on his arms and chest kept him from moving. He settled on smiling reassuringly at her but couldn't know that the mask hid from her any sign of his encouragement.
His attention drifted back to Carson as the man spoke to him again, but he still could make no sense of what the doctor was trying to say to him. Clearly unsettled, Carson spoke to the others and then placed a hand against John's stomach. John lost sight of the syringe but felt it as it punctured his side.
He could not stop from screaming.
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A/N #2 Dare I say it? I think I will.
Mwa ha ha!