Eep! This is so difficult to write without Carson and I don't have a feel for Dr. Keller yet, either. Which made it difficult to write infirmary scenes in this fic. sighs So anyway, I want to warn you guys that posting may still be quite irregular as I have to use the laptop from work until I can gather enough funds to buy a new laptop for myself. Ugh.
--//--
Sensation crept back agonizingly slow.
Sound came first: a steady noise. Was it rain pattering down upon a hard surface? No. It sounded too…artificial.
Eventually smell came next, a strange waft of something he could only describe as cleanliness. It reminded him of the fresh cool air after a summer storm.
Which lead his mind to cottony clouds as he tested his seemingly swollen tongue, tasting an unpleasantness he didn't wish to mull over.
Clouds of another kind enveloped his body, or so it felt as such. Warmth and a welcoming softness caressed him.
And finally he arrived at the final, and in this case, most important sense: sight. With a startling realization he found he had already gotten past the hard part of struggling to wake: his eyes were already open. A dryness further irritated by him blinking told him a story he didn't want to know. Had his eyes been open the entire time? Creepy.
His body began to tell him of the abuse it had endured…or at least that of what he thought he endured. He was stiff and achy, like he had been lying in one position for too long. He experimentally wiggled his fingers and toes, only to find that it took some effort to do so. Breathing was unpleasant: his throat and mouth ached.
He observed his surroundings as his body and mind began to accustom to consciousness. Above hung the customary lighting of an Atlantis infirmary. Surrounding him, superior Ancient medial equipment intermixed with inferior Earth equipment. Somewhere nearby a few nurses were zipping around carrying about their daily duties.
No faces were hiding in the shadows. No thunderous clouds loomed above. And best of all…he was dry.
Yet he still wasn't convinced.
"Of all places…" He muttered though his mouth felt like it had been shot up with Novocain. Had it been out of use that long?
Why the infirmary?! Of all the things he had experienced thus far…his team dead, those he killed in the past coming back to haunt him, repeating scenarios…and now he was in the infirmary? It was the last place he had expected to be and the last place he wanted to be. Surely he must still be trapped in this nightmare.
He wasn't about to let his guard down now. He had learned this lesson over and over. He remained still, waiting. There was nothing more he hated than the unexpected.
What was going to pop out at him next?
His heart began to pound, his breathing keeping up with the pace. He tensed his muscles and struggled to lift his head, which seemed ten pounds too heavy. He had to get out of this compromised position. He had to be prepared for whatever chose to torment him next.
Inch by inch, he shifted. Something…an IV he surmised, pinched at the top of his hand before pulling away. Warmth at the tip of his middle finger melted away. A tube painfully pulled in a place he least expected and to which he grimaced in discomfort: a catheter. He had been in this position a long time. One he intended to vacate any moment now. He felt the edge of the bed, the coolness of the air surrounding him, and gave his body the final push.
He had expected to land on the ground…in puddles no less…and in an entirely new terrible scenario.
Instead, he landed face first onto a hard cold stone floor and felt a rush of pain spread through a point just above his right eye. A second later it was followed by another horrible spike that sent his body into a frizzy. His chest seized as a sharp knife of pain sliced into his right lung. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe.
Panic swept over him and he clawed at the hard surface, struggling to gain purchase.
The first sense of another presence was the pounding he felt through the floor…vibrations made by approaching feet. Sound became muted as blood rushed into his fading mind. An increasing pressure reminded him that he needed air. He sucked in a desperate breath and nearly cried from the pain it caused.
There was the torment he had come to know. It confirmed that he had still not escaped the nightmare he was living.
If he had escaped his nightmare and been placed in the infirmary, he would have been pumped full of painkillers by now. Yet his pain receptors were screaming at him, demanding his attention, sparking a fire through every fiber in his body.
Hands were upon him, lifting, and for a brief moment, his tear-filled eyes met those of a familiar and comforting blue. Carson? And then just as quickly, they were replaced by an unfamiliar brown.
His vision faded briefly. When it returned, everything was blurry and undefined. A fierce pounding sent bursts of pain through his head in perfect rhythm. He wanted to fight, but his body wouldn't follow his commands.
Moments came and went. Why was this happening to him?
He was laid on his back, an oxygen mask secured to his face. Pain seared through his chest.
The ceiling above was moving then it wasn't. He kept forgetting to breathe.
Someone was hovering above him, speaking to him, though he couldn't hear what the person was saying – the sound of blood rushing in his ears far too loud. Hands were prodding his chest, stirring up more fiery pain.
Finally the blessed blackness claimed him.
But not before he vowed to himself that when he woke next, he would be prepared.
--tbc--
I had this fic all wrapped up and then someone had to mention something that got my wheels turning again. Crap! I could add a twist here but I'm thinking perhaps I should lay this fic to rest and get on with some other projects, then perhaps come back to this later on. What do you guys think?