Chapter Five

The instant Eli saw what was on Rush's console, he nearly jumped out of his skin in excitement.

"That's it! Of course! Why didn't I see that? All I have to do is…" he trailed off into a jumble of technical terms that Young didn't pretend to understand. He was perfectly happy to let the ecstatic youth do whatever it is he had to do to solve the crisis.

It didn't take long for Eli to get Volker, Brodie, and Riley moving as well, and the repairs went shockingly smoothly. There was one tough moment when they thought they were missing a needed piece of equipment, but Wray tracked it down to everyone's relief.

Neither Riley nor Brodie were happy to get back into the Ancient spacesuits, but they did it. Eli got the compartments open from the control room and monitored them from there. Young hovered for a while; then gave up when it appeared that it came down to replacing some things and oiling others.

Disaster was averted, for the moment, yet again, and Young left Eli to monitor things with a grateful sense of relief that died quickly when he remembered the other crisis of the moment. If they lost Rush… that thought hit him hard. He paused in the hallway, telling himself aloud in harsh whisper that the scientist was just too damn ornery to die like this.

They couldn't lose him. They'd die without him… Young didn't know what he'd do without him. He shook his head, shutting any possibility of thoughts like that one away, ignoring the raw mix of emotions that boiled in his belly. He hurried down the corridor.

- - -

Entering the medical bay, Young found TJ slumped half-asleep by the microscope and a pile of culture dishes while Greer sat silently staring down at Rush who was shifting restlessly in his unconscious state.

"TJ, Greer, any change?" he asked.

They both looked up at him, startled. They shook their heads. Nothing more needed to be said.

Young swallowed hard, his eyes flickering back to Rush and then away.

"Go get some sleep, both of you." At the first sign of a protest, he waved his hand peremptorily in the air. "That's an order. Eli has the engine thing under control and there's nothing more you can do here. Go to bed."

Young reached out to gently touch TJ on her shoulder when he saw the unshed wetness in her eyes. "You did everything possible. Now it's up to him," he tilted his head sideways towards Rush. "Hey, if anyone's too contrary to let a stupid bacteria take him out, it's Rush. He'd think it was too insulting to his intelligence."

TJ barely managed a weak smile, but Greer chuckled softly, if wryly, from behind him.

"You're right about that," Greer agreed.

Young gave him a weary smile of his own.

"Go on, both of you. I'll stay with him. Go."

They finally went, leaving Young to take Greer's spot on the side of the bed. He sat there in silence, only the creaking of the ancient walls of the ship and the hum of the engines joining him in solitary watch.

- - -

Young never knew how long he sat there. Time seemed to stretch endlessly and darkness seemed to settle upon him, despite the glowing lights along the walls and ceilings. The only interruptions were Rush's garbled mutterings in a thick, harsh accent that made Young strain to make out recognizable words.

Rush's agitation began to increase and Young had to grab for his flailing arms, restrain his fingers from digging into and under the bandage on his left forearm.

Young began to talk to Rush, trying to soothe him, not saying anything too sensible, mostly "easy, relax, it's OK, I'm here," and similar refrains. It probably didn't matter what he said, just the sound of his voice seemed to help. Rush slumped back and then curled in towards Young, mumbling one set of syllables softly, over and over.

He couldn't help his response – Young found himself gathering Rush up into his arms, settling his head in against his thigh, and curling down around him, stroking a hand through the thick, surprisingly soft layers of Rush's long hair. He had to nearly rest his ear against the crown of Rush's head to hear what he was saying, it sounded first like "Glory" and then resolved into "Gloria."

It took Young longer than he felt it should have to make the connection. That had been Rush's late wife's name. Young had read the file, but he'd been so busy. He'd barely paid attention to the notation of the years-old death of Gloria Rush, for it had occurred before Rush had been recruited by the SGC. She'd died of an illness, Young recalled. Cancer?

He felt a flood of guilt staining his cheeks in color, even as he cradled Rush with his entire body, continuing to stroke his hair. He hadn't thought about what that kind of loss meant. What that grief must have felt like. Rush was so much of a challenge, simultaneously penetrating and impenetrable, that Young had never stopped to consider him in a more human light.

To be honest, he'd wondered if Rush had feelings at all. The man seemed so scientific, so pragmatic, so comfortable in his aloneness, that Young hadn't bothered to consider what might be behind that icy exterior. He'd had too difficult a time trying to keep up with the genius mind; that had preoccupied him. He'd been blinded by his worry of being left behind.

Now, he felt sickened by his own failure to remember that despite being a certified, and probably certifiable, genius, Rush was still a human being. He had experienced love and grief and pain and loss. Young could barely contemplate what he might feel if he could never see Emily again… or TJ… no, he wasn't going there. He was having a hard enough time with the thought of losing the man trembling, shaking with fever, in his arms.

Rush's mumblings got louder, he was calling out Gloria's name more urgently now, pleading. The shivers in his slender frame were turning into shudders and Young realized, almost with horror, that it wasn't fevered chills anymore, it was sobs of grief. He lowered his hand to press to Rush's hot cheek and found it wet with tears. He felt helpless. He couldn't deal with his own emotions, much less someone else's.

So he simply held on to Rush and tried not to hear the ragged gasps for breath and the heart-piercing cries. He held him like a mother holds a crying child, stroking his head, his shoulders, rocking him slightly. He ignored, closed off, denied the tears that threatened to drip from his own eyes. He just held on.

- - -

TBC