The Weight of an Oath Part 17b
Medically induced coma. Christ, Rodney thought, and shifted on the hard seat of the chair he was sitting on. He was in the upper levels of the medical bay, looking through a long glass window and directing his gaze down to the figure that was lying flat on an uncomfortable looking bed in the isolation room. Sheppard was practically lost amidst all the machines, tubes and personnel that surrounded him.
Rodney had never seen the man look worse than he currently did, but a part of him was very, very afraid that somehow this could quickly change.
Medically induced coma. Rodney hated those three words and the images they evoked. The last person he knew who had been placed in a medically induced coma—and really, how strange it was that he knew more than one—had been Ford. And that hadn't exactly worked out well at all, had it?
But, according to Carson, they had no choice in the matter. And whereas on other occasions, Rodney might have questioned the doctor on the intelligence of such a treatment plan, in this case, he couldn't argue. When Sheppard had surged up from the bed in pain after being injected with the serum that was supposed to reverse this mess, Rodney had decided that he was way, way out of his intellectual safety zone. It was an uncomfortable position, but he had decided that he was just going to have to trust Carson in the matter.
Looking down at the activity in the isolation room, Rodney couldn't push away the memory of Sheppard's reaction to the serum that Torca and Carson had designed. One moment, the man had been motionless and the only sound in the infirmary besides the whispered instructions to medical personnel had been the awful whooshing noise of the ventilator that had been re-introduced to Sheppard's respiratory system. And then, in the time it took to inject a supposedly life-saving fluid into the Colonel's bloodstream, he had thrown himself upwards with his arms and legs flailing, and his eyes rolling wildly in his head.
It had been obvious to everyone in the room that Sheppard had been in pain, and so Carson had made a hard decision.
And now Rodney sat in an uncomfortable chair looking out at his friend who had been placed in a medically induced coma.
"This sucks," Rodney said, and didn't realize he done so out loud until someone beside him shifted and said, "Aye."
Rodney startled a bit, because he hadn't noticed Carson enter the room.
"I thought you were down there with him," Rodney accused.
"I was. Just needed a wee bit of a break. I'll go back down in a moment," Carson said, and exhaustion saturated his voice.
Rodney watched Carson, and when the other man didn't seem to notice, he watched a little more. The doctor was staring through the isolation room window, and McKay easily identified the look of worry that Carson wore. Rodney knew that Beckett hadn't wanted to sedate the Colonel. He had thought it dangerous, because even after a month of this harrying struggle to keep Sheppard alive, the damn Netharian drugs had not been completely metabolized out of the man's system. On more than one occasion, Carson had expressed grave dissatisfaction with that simple fact, and it seemed to be what he was gnawing on now.
"It's been two days," Carson said absently, almost as if he had forgotten that Rodney was in the room. "If we don't see an improvement by the end of the day tomorrow, I'll have to pull him out of it and start working on something else."
Rodney didn't really think there was anything else to work on, but he couldn't bring himself to say so out loud. He needed Carson to keep working, because if the man stopped then so would his friend.
It'll work, Rodney said, silently and to himself this time. It has to.
888
Teyla and Ronon were sitting across from one another in the mess hall, but neither one of them appeared to be eating. Elizabeth understood, because her own appetite was practically non-existent and had been since Sheppard's team had missed that initial check-in from Netharia.
Nevertheless, she had a tray of food in her hands and made a big show of looking positive and full of smiles as she approached the table.
"Teyla. Ronon. How are you both?" she asked, acknowledging the pair with a nod and then sitting down between them.
Teyla looked uneasily at Ronon but apparently decided to play along.
"We are fine, Doctor Weir. Worried about John, but otherwise fine."
Ronon didn't even try to pretend that Teyla was telling the truth. Instead he scowled darkly at the two women and studied something in his hand that Elizabeth couldn't see.
Elizabeth, who knew enough to tread carefully when Ronon was in such an obvious black state, shoved down her trepidation and laid a gentle hand on the Satedan's shoulder.
"Doctor Beckett is confident that the serum he and Torca created will reverse the effects of the moderated Hoffan serum, Ronon. I have to believe that John will be fine." Her words were true, because she didn't know how she would cope with the constant stress of command if she had to relinquish her fragile hope that John would soon respond to the treatment, that the man who had been wasting away in the infirmary for almost a month would recover, that the balance of worries shared would be restored.
Ronon pulled away from her touch and stood so quickly and in such an agitated way that Elizabeth had the impression of a barely contained storm building beside her. He tossed the object in his hand onto the table, and then left the room without looking at either of the two women or saying anything further to them.
Teyla sighed heavily.
"He blames himself," she said, studying Ronon's retreating form. "He knew that something was not right with the Netharians from the beginning. He felt too keenly their interest in Colonel Sheppard. He believes that he should have been more insistent in his suggestion to keep away from Netharia."
Elizabeth found herself blinking away tears and nodding sadly. She understood Ronon and his behavior. Perhaps, she understood him more than she ever had before, because she was the one that had commanded the team to Netharia. She was the one who had allowed the horrible experiments to happen to John. She was the one who ultimately had taken away his vitality and health.
Teyla clasped a strong hand around Elizabeth's forearm and consequently drew Elizabeth's attention away from her self-recriminating thoughts and to the other woman's sad yet steady gaze.
"Let us not forget that it is the Netharians who are to blame for this unhappy circumstance," Teyla said, sagely. "Neither you nor Ronon injected the colonel with the Hoffan serum. Neither of you experimented on him in a way that should not be tolerated by any person of moral fortitude. This is not your fault, Doctor Weir."
Teyla's gaze was strong, and Elizabeth almost believed her words. She nodded her head again and thought that she should check on Rodney and then maybe visit John again.
She stood to leave and noticed that the object Ronon had tossed onto the table was a chocolate bar.
Almond Joy.
Teyla's lips curved in an awkward and cheerless smile as she pocketed the candy.
888
Carson had left not too long ago to be replaced by Torca. Rodney couldn't stand the change, but at the same time he was too exhausted and concerned to get up and leave. If the Netharian woman tried to start a conversation with him, he thought he might walk out, even though he didn't have a clue where he'd go. He wanted to stay to keep vigil over Sheppard, and he felt as if he had more cause and right to be present than the alien scientist did. But talking to the person who he held partly responsible for Sheppard's condition was definitely out of the question.
He was still pondering whether or not he should leave when he heard a muffled sniffling coming from the woman's direction. Dismayed by the noise, he furtively looked toward Torca and saw tears streaming down her face. Her expression was one of abject misery bordering on terror, and something about the naked vulnerability he saw in her caused Rodney to struggle to find something to say.
"What's the matter with you?" he snapped, not realizing that his tone might not be conducive to conversation.
Rodney turned away when Torca swung her tear-stained face in his direction. He couldn't bear to look at her and wasn't sure if it was due to his anger toward her or because she was crying.
"This is my fault," Torca whispered after a moment of cautious hesitation. "I did this."
Rodney's anger swelled, and he couldn't bite back the acerbic words that poured from his mouth.
"Yes, it is."
Torca cringed back and puts a hand to her face. She looked as if she had been physically slapped, and Rodney felt a thrum of glee from knowing that he had hurt her. She deserves it, he thought, because she was the one who had done this to Sheppard.
Torca's breathing hitched, and she scrambled away from Rodney. It was almost as if she believed she could reverse the accusation in his words if she could just get away fast enough. Her face was worn with agony, and suddenly Rodney, who had never actually been one to relish eliciting pain in others, was overwhelmed by a sudden flush of guilt.
"Wait. Just…wait," he said to her. His voice was resigned, and she responded to it immediately.
"It's not just your fault. It's your culture. You're society," Rodney said, and although the words pained him, he recognized their truth. "You were taught that what was wrong is right, and you're fighting against that mentality. It's never easy, but you're doing it. You're helping him even though it means that you've been exiled from your home." Rodney stood up and walked toward her. She took one step back, but he made an impatient noise that effectively stopped her in her tracks. "That man down there would respect you for your strength and character. You'll see. When he wakes up." Rodney said the words with uncharacteristic gentleness.
And yet, despite his consolations to her, there remained a part of him that found her presence unbearable. He gave into it and stumbled past her to the hallway.
888
"…chemically attaches itself to the transformed Hoffan serum that is still active in his cells. Renders it inactive. It's truly remarkable."
What the fuck?
John didn't know what any of the words meant or even who was saying them. He thought he might be conscious, but wasn't sure because everything was dark. To test the theory, he shifted his head, just a little bit.
Dizziness assaulted him, and he realized that maybe he shouldn't have moved. A light buzzing in his ears became louder, and he thought that, yeah, he was probably conscious but it wasn't going to last long.
"Okay…time…eyes…"
John's hearing proceeded to wax and wane in irregular intervals, but that was okay because it was only mirroring his unreliable awareness.
"Colonel…need…eyes…"
This time the words were clearer, because he was focusing on staying still. The dizziness receded, and he blithely wondered why someone needed eyes.
Something latched onto his shoulder, and he pulled up a heavy arm to swat at it. The dizziness threatened to make a return appearance, but he fought against it. His arm was gently forced down, and he felt the stirring of vague unease. Something uncomfortable and unforgiving was invading the delicate lining of his throat, and he reached up with his free arm to tug at the unpleasant source of the sensation that seemed to stem from somewhere outside of his nose.
His arm was forced down again, and he wasn't feeling terribly happy about it when noise rushed into his head. The sudden return of ambient sound was so disorienting that he weakly fought against the restraints on his arms, throwing in a few feeble kicks for good measure.
"Colonel, you need to open your eyes. Can you do that? Just open your eyes for me." John recognized the brogue of a Scotsman, and his beleaguered brain slowly informed him that Carson Beckett was demanding his full consciousness.
He tried to open his eyes and saw the blurry flutter of his lashes against the stark field of white that lay in front of them. But it was almost as if he had expended too much energy on moving his arms, because he was finding it near impossible to lift the unrelenting weight of his eyelids.
He heard a strange noise, a dull gurgling, and realized that his own mouth was making the sound. It unnerved him, and he wanted it to stop, but the awful groan continued just the same.
"What the hell is the matter with him? You said he'd be waking up now! What the hell is that noise? Did you kill his brain or something, because that just isn't right!"
"Rodney, calm down. The colonel just needs some time to fully wake up. It's to be expected."
Rodney, John thought. Carson's talking to Rodney.
He wondered if the other members of his team were around and was struck with a strong, sudden wave of homesickness. It seemed too long since he had last seen his family.
Eagerness slowly spiked through him with enough strength to aid him in lifting the terrible burden of his eyelids. He blinked once, and when his eyes fell closed again, thought that they were going to stay that way. But then a hand gently shook his shoulder, and his eyes opened half-way again.
The room was spinning, and he bit back the nausea that was going to send him back to oblivion if there was any justice in the universe. Disoriented, he again raised the mass of his hand and unsuccessfully tried to reach the thing that was shoved up his nose and down his throat. He felt a stab of desperation, because vomiting with the damn thing in place just didn't seem like a good idea.
"It's a feeding tube, Colonel. Leave it be." The command came from Carson, but John didn't listen. He reached up again, but only succeeded in hitting himself in the nose. There was very little force behind the blow, but it was enough to cause his eyes to water.
Hard and unrelenting queasiness skewered him and, feeding tube or not, he was going to blow chunks everywhere. The appalling gurgling sound issued from his mouth again, but it was colored with a hint of desperation that was apparently recognized by Atlantis' chief medical officer.
Unseen hands manhandled him until his body was turned on its side. Before a basin or any other helpful container could be strategically placed, he vomited. There wasn't much to be expelled from his stomach, which was a small blessing that had him feeling incredibly grateful.
"There you are, Colonel. Feeling better now?" Carson asked, but John's world was spinning and all he could do was groan in response.
And then, thankfully, the scales of the universe shifted, and oblivion returned.
888
Carson ushered everyone out of Sheppard's room, and Rodney was seriously pissed about that. They sat and paced for about an hour that felt to Rodney like an interminable amount of time, before Beckett returned looking solemn yet relieved.
"What the hell was that all about?" Rodney shouted, before Carson or anyone else could get a word in edgewise.
"Rodney, calm down. He's okay," Carson assured. Elizabeth, who had been tensely pacing with Rodney, abruptly took a seat in one of the many hard infirmary chairs that were littering the space. Teyla stepped beside her and placed a soothing hand on her shoulder.
"What happened?" Ronon asked in his characteristically blunt way.
"He's fine. The tube was infiltrated with vomit, so I needed to clear it. I also upped the dose of his anti-nausea medication to prevent this sort of thing from happening when he wakes up the next time," Carson explained.
"It's to be expected," Torca unwelcomely added, and just the sound of her voice caused Rodney irritation. "His body is under considerable stress. But he is healing, and these temporary complications will soon abate."
"How soon?" Elizabeth asked, sharply. She was obviously as shaken as Rodney but was back to hiding it well.
"Soon," Carson unhelpfully replied with an apologetic shrug. "I've never done this before, Elizabeth so it's hard to tell. But his stats are improving. We just need to give him time."
Rodney thought about how it had been almost an entire month since they had escaped the Netharians. He was an impatient man, and although he had been reasonably tolerant these past few weeks, he knew that he was just told to be patient one time too many. He was so frustrated that he thought he might be forced into a hissy fit. In fact, a good-old McKay rant was definitely in order.
"Goddamn medical science," he said waspishly. "How the hell—"
His outburst was interrupted when the machines in the isolation room brought everyone's attention back to Sheppard. The well-known cadence of the heart monitor had sped up, and they all simultaneously rushed to the window that allowed them visible access to what was going on. Rodney studied the scene below him for a little while and then turned to Carson who smiled slowly.
"He's awake again," the doctor said, and then quickly exited the room to check on his patient.
"Took him long enough," Rodney muttered, expressing his shock at the good news by twisting his mouth into an ironic smile. With effort, he pushed down the raving words that were practically burning his throat and turned abruptly to be the first one after Carson to file out of the room.
888
Cushioned by several infirmary pillows, John studied the background report on Torca that Lorne had compiled before she had been given access to the infirmary and Carson's lab. He stifled a cough, because Rodney was sitting nearby, and John knew that the physicist would instantly transform into a mother hen if he thought that his friend was having difficulty breathing. John would have to replace the oxygen mask back over his face soon, but he forced himself to wait until after he finished the report. Reading with one of those damn things on was a pain in the ass.
Rodney was working on some damn thing that had him punching away at his laptop and vocalizing a running litany of all the mistakes his science team had made during his absence from the department. John was absolutely sure that almost anyone else would find Rodney's unending tirade annoying, but he was used to the physicist's unending outbursts. In fact, he found them soothing and a sign that all was right with the world. So it wasn't surprising when the smooth flow of words began to ease him into a quiet doze. He fought against the lull of sleep, but quickly realized the futility of the battle. His eyes closed firmly shut, and when the report on Torca fell from his hands, he didn't notice.
Sometime later, a gentle hand shook his shoulder, and he slowly woke to find the oxygen mask in place over his face. He grimaced at its presence, but didn't remove it. His side ached, but nowhere near as badly as it once did, so he pushed its complaints aside.
It was Rodney's hand on his shoulder, and John looked blearily up at the man. He locked a questioning expression on his face which Rodney easily deciphered.
McKay frowned and vaguely pointed to something outside of John's immediate line of vision.
"Your visitor is here," Rodney said unhappily.
John struggled to see past the oxygen mask. At first, all he could see was Ronon's tall and looming form. He smiled briefly at the welcoming presence of the man, but then noticed that Ronon looked just as unhappy as Rodney.
John focused his attention down and saw Torca standing near the foot of his infirmary bed. He didn't really remember her except in the role she had played as one of the people who had experimented on him, and the sight of her caused an involuntary increase in his heart rate. When one of the monitoring sounds around him started to pick up its pace he knew, much to his chagrin, that everyone in the infirmary was listening to the sound of his latent fear.
"I don't think this is a good idea," Ronon said, brusquely.
"I agree with him," Rodney muttered.
Sheppard's body apparently held the same opinion, and he was glad for the oxygen mask because he started finding it hard to catch his breath. Carson hurried his way toward the bed, and things were going to get messy if John didn't quickly get a handle on the situation.
"I'm fine. Fine," he said to Carson and reinforced his assertion with a placating motion of his hand. Carson studied the monitors and his patient for a moment, and John worried that maybe the doctor would cancel the visit. But Carson had agreed to Sheppard's introduction to Torca and so, after noting that the Colonel's stats were returning to normal, he reluctantly left the immediate vicinity.
"I'm fine, Rodney," Sheppard reasserted to the stubborn man who had refused to relinquish his place beside his team leader. "Let me talk to her."
Rodney's frown deepened, but he grudgingly relented and gathered his laptop. He turned an irritated eye toward Torca.
"I expect to find him in exactly the same condition as he is now," Rodney grumbled before he left.
Sheppard eyed Ronon, but the Satedan only set his posture so that everything in his stance showed that he was immovable. Ronon wasn't going anywhere, and Sheppard was just going to have to accept it.
To be honest, John was relieved to have the big guy's intimidating presence near. He wasn't certain what to expect from this meeting, and, although Lorne's report was specific and complete, John knew that words written on a computer tablet didn't always express the entire truth.
Torca followed McKay's exit with her eyes before turning and stepping closer to John. Her expression was both uncertain and smug at the same time.
"Your Doctor McKay does not like me," she stated in a way that immediately bothered John. He removed the oxygen mask, because he felt the need to defend Rodney and didn't want the weakness of the mask impeding the forcefulness of his justifications.
"From what little I remember about the Netharian laboratories, I think he has every right not to like you," John said.
The mask of arrogance that covered Torca's face faltered and disappeared. With a shock, John recognized that the woman was barely sustaining any sort of composure in his presence.
"You are right," she said, and her expression wavered again. John was suddenly afraid that she was going to start crying, and he wasn't sure what would happen if she did.
Feeling helpless, he looked at Ronon who simply shrugged with abject indifference. Not for the first time, John wondered just how close to death he had really been for Torca to have garnered such ill-will from his teammates even though she had reportedly been the one to save them all.
"I'm sorry," John said, at a momentary loss. "That was cruel of me."
"You have every right. What my people did…what I did…it's unforgivable," Torca said. John realized that she had yet to look at him directly. Even when she had first entered with that mask of self-righteousness, she had never initiated eye-contact with him.
"I remember S…S…Sandrina mentioning something about an oath?" John asked, silently cursing himself for stuttering over the hated woman's name.
Everything about Torca's posture changed with his mention of the oath. Her shoulders drooped and her arms dangled heavily. Her head bowed as if she couldn't bear its weight.
"I will do all to protect. In doing so I show my love and commitment to my people, my world, and my life. This is the solemn Oath that binds my heart, my mind, and my very soul. I am nothing if I withhold it, but everything having given it. I will do all to protect," she muttered, gravely. John barely heard the words, but understood their importance.
"Our entire society, our culture, our history, everything about us, is based upon these sentiments," Torca said, still not looking at him. "Everything I am can be found in the Oath. Everything."
John remained silent. His chest hurt, almost as if the starved Wraith was trying to feed from him again.
Torca lifted her head and met his eyes.
"And it is all wrong," she stated, hollowly.
John's mind unexpectedly offered up the vague impression of a young woman with the same eyes as Torca. He dimly remembered the woman staring down at him and speaking kind words of comfort. He coughed at the memory of a dusty floor and recalled the compassion and worry reflected in the woman's face.
"What will you do now?" he asked, only beginning to understand just how much Torca had sacrificed in order to save him.
Torca looked uncertain, and her steady gaze faded. The air of heaviness about her returned, and she shrugged.
"Doctor McKay says that since both of the great Rings on Netharia are now in working order, I may not be able to return to my home world for some time. He mentioned something about a…busy signal?" she said, confused by the unfamiliar phrase.
John understood, and he nodded his head to show it.
"Your Doctor Weir has informed me that your ship, the Daedelus can take me to Netharia, but that it will be some time before it returns to Atlantis. Until then, I was hoping that, with your permission I could stay here."
"Doctor Weir has the authority to do that," John said, oddly unwilling to make the decision.
"She told me that it is your decision to make," Torca replied.
John was quiet for a moment as he thought about how difficult it would be for him to have the Netharian woman in Atlantis during the time it would take before she could be shipped out. He was still experiencing vivid nightmares of being fed upon by the Wraith, of being stared at by cruel experimenters. Even now, he was fighting his own body's automatic responses to Torca's presence. The thought of her remaining in close proximity to him for an extended time was difficult to consider.
And yet the part of him that was programmed to help others was yammering to give her asylum. She had, after all, helped him and his team and, in doing so had betrayed her own people. Besides, she had nowhere else to go.
"What will you do when you get home?" he asked, stalling for time to further consider the options.
"I am not sure. It is almost certain that the Administration will have determined that I was involved in your escape. Their knowledge of my actions could cause me…difficulty," Torca explained.
"Do you want to go back? If you're going to be in trouble, you might want to consider an alternate route," John suggested, curious.
Torca muttered something so softly that John didn't hear it.
"What?"
"I need to make this right," the Netharian said, still quietly but now loud enough for others in the room to hear.
"I don't understand. You saved us. You got us home. Don't you think that counts for something?" John asked, sharing a confused look with Ronon. The Satedan appeared more interested now, but still managed to give off a menacing air despite his mild curiosity.
"You don't know! You just don't know!" Torca said forcibly, and John saw the path of tears streaking the fine features of her face. "My people…the things that they have done…the things they continue to do! It must stop! Oh, my father would be most ashamed!"
Torca's composure cracked completely, and she sobbed openly. John shared another look with Ronon, this time a panicked one and was shocked to see the man's face soften. Ronon took a step that brought him within touching distance of the woman.
The runner's big hand clasped Torca's arm with a gentleness that John would have thought impossible.
"These people can help you," Ronon said, knowingly. He patted the small woman's shoulder once, and looked meaningfully at Sheppard. Then, with no further words, he turned and exited the infirmary.
The room was quiet for a span of a few seconds, but it was enough time for the tension within John to stretch and then break.
"When the Daedelus comes, we'll bring you home," he said, emptily. Torca's sobs increased in their voracity, but she nodded in understanding. "Do you have allies there? Anyone who can protect you?"
"My father's old contacts will aid me," she replied, still sobbing. "I will find a way to fix this. I have no choice."
"We'll help you," John assured her. He reached out, and managed to grab her hand. He thought hard about what needed to be said next. Part of him still fought against the words, but he knew that he needed to say them in order to put this entire mess behind them all. "Your father sounds like a good guy. I'm sure that he would be proud of you now and would find a way to forgive you for your past mistakes." He paused one last time, but then looked the upset woman directly in the eyes before saying the necessary words. "I know I do."
Torca moaned, and then took a few, long minutes to collect herself. John watched as everything about her became lighter and buoyant. She ungraciously wiped her nose and face, and then lifted her head. John saw her dazzling expression.
"You have helped to raise a heavy weight from my heart," she said softly. "I hope to finish what you have started, and maybe one day, our people can be allies."
She smiled, and wiped a few stray tears from her eyes. Then, nodding, she left the infirmary.
After she left, John sat quietly for a while. He brushed a hand down his side, and the wound that was healing there complained with a stiff twinge of pain. He studied his own wasted body, and fought against the depression that physical fragility evoked in him. He breathed the cool oxygen from the mask and could not ignore the heavy ache that still remained within the depths of his chest.
He thought again of the small woman, hovering over him while he lay in pain and out of breath on the cold, grimy floor of an alien mansion. He considered her anguish as she admitted her own transgressions and those of her people. He weighed her vulnerability and courage against her previous wrongdoings and his own pain.
He thought of his own family and of how much he was willing to do for them, and knew that Torca, for all her failings was in many ways no different than him.
John felt one of his own leaden burdens shift and float away. He suddenly felt incredibly tired and let himself drift.
Later, when he woke up, he would find himself smiling at his teammates and friends, and would be satisfied to know that their heavy worries would also begin to ease.
Finis
A/N: Thanks to you all for reading!!!
A/N for everybetty: "Daddy's Little Girl" is next! Wish me luck!