A/N: And now, a year later... Naw, just kidding. Put down the torches and pitch-forks. Please.
Chapter 27
Zelenka picked at the piece of tape holding the cotton ball in the crook of his left arm and finally decided to hell with it. It had been several hours since he gave blood – it was surely safe to remove by now. He ripped it free, wadded up the thing, and stuck it in his pocket. The little puncture was red and there was no bruising, so he rolled his sleeve back down and sighed. He sat in a confiscated office chair in the infirmary in a position where he could see both Elizabeth's heart monitor through a gap in the privacy curtain around her bed and the entrance to post-op. He glanced at his watch – it was after lunch, but he wasn't hungry. But he could stand for some more coffee. He ran a hand through his wispy hair, sending it in even more directions, let out a breath that rattled his lips in an exhausted raspberry, and stood. He glanced over Rodney to ask if he wanted some coffee, too, and saw the man was canted back in his chair, head lolling to one side and a line of drool just starting to run out of the corner of his mouth. Oh, for want of a camera, he thought and chuckled as Rodney let out a soft snort. Would make wonderful departmental screen saver. Could paste Santa hat on for holidays….
Rodney was tilted back against the foot of Lorne's bed. The major was out as well – which was a good thing. He had been giving orders up to the point they wheeled him into surgery for the gunshot wound in his leg, and even after they brought him out of post-op he picked up right where he left off. He and Rodney had apparently put together quite the little file on Kolya and Chaya and all the crap that had been going on, and one of his first orders was to send that off to Washington and the Project's Board. Word had yet to come back, and it was wearing heavily on the major.
Ronon was sitting backwards on a chair, his forearms across the back and his forehead resting on them. He lifted his head and blinked when Zelenka made the noise. His eyes were still very bloodshot and the rash around them was better, but not by much. Who would have thought a pixie would consider being called Tinkerbell a grievous insult? And that the pixie dust itself was as potent as bear spray? Zelenka barely held back a grin at Ronon's discomfort. "I am going for coffee. Can I get you some?"
"Naw, I'm good," Ronon replied and yawned.
Then Zelenka looked at the only other awake person in the room. She sat cross-legged on one of the beds, her eyes fixed on the door to post-op, and in the light of the infirmary they had a definite metallic hue. He could feel the tension radiating off of her, but her face was set in a calm mask. "Can I bring you some more tea?" he asked.
Teyla blinked, then smiled at him. "Yes, that would be very nice. Thank you."
Zelenka nodded as spastically as Rodney and headed for the tiny room that served as the staff lounge.
Teyla watched him leave. She had been very impressed with the man's empathic abilities – they were quite astute for someone who had had no formal training. He and the currently snoring scientist were the first people she saw after John was taken away. She knew something terrible had happened to John – he was at the very edges of her perceptions and all she could really sense was a vague unpleasant pressure that didn't feel much different than a bad sinus headache. Then at one point he did come closer, and the pain and anxiety nearly sent her to her knees. Then, nothing. Several hours later the door to her cell unlocked, and when she cautiously stepped out she found the two men waiting for her. They were both unarmed, exhausted, and worried, and when she asked where John was, that worry practically became a physical presence in the hall. She knew right then she could trust them, and when the smaller of the two sighed in relief, she could feel him read her and relax as well. They brought her straight to the infirmary, where they all sat vigil. Teyla could not sense John at first, but over the past few hours she began to slowly perceive more from him, and it was nothing but pain. She concentrated on sending calming thoughts, but until she could come in actual contact with him, it would be fruitless.
She could feel eyes on her, and she turned her head to meet Ronon's somewhat amused gaze. Now that she'd had a chance to study his aura, she could see the Pretender in him. The corner of her mouth flicked up. Yes, definitely ogre. She was also looking forward to a rematch with him so she could wipe the smirk off his face once and for all. He caught her by surprise before….
Zelenka returned with two steaming cups, one of which he handed to her. She thanked him and continued to smile faintly as she sipped. She was also looking forward to speaking with Radek alone – she had never met a human with such strong abilities and would like to learn more about his family. She smiled warmly at him and held back a laugh when he smiled somewhat shyly back. Yes, that was going to be an interesting conversation, indeed.
A half an hour later both she and Zelenka let out a gasp, and Carson came out of post-op a second later. As he shuffled tiredly towards them, he scratched his scalp, then ran a hand over his stubble and yawned. The hem of his scrub pants and the cloth booties covering his shoes had spatters of drying blood on them, and when he stopped he glanced down and finally noticed them, he frowned disgustedly. He pulled them off his shoes and wadded them up, then shoved them in his pocket.
Zelenka reached over and shook Rodney's knee. Rodney snapped awake with a few incoherent noises, then swore when the legs of the chair hit the ground and startled him even more. Ronon got up and touched Lorne, but Rodney's little outburst had brought him awake. He blinked and ran a hand down his face and focused on Carson. "What's the news?" Lorne asked groggily.
"He's in recovery, doped to the gills," Carson replied and rubbed his neck. "We had a bugger of a time finding where he was bleedin' out. By the way, thank you, Radek, for getting blood donors lined up so quickly. We used all but two units."
Zelenka nodded, his hand unconsciously going to his own draw mark.
"Both bullets punctured his bowels, and I had to remove a small section of his colon and small intestine. It was a good thing Kolya had him half starved, or it would have been a right ugly mess. As is, we still have to watch him closely for peritonitis and septicemia. It's going to be bugger-all for a few days, and he's going tae be on some heavy meds for awhile, but I expect a full recovery."
The tension in the room dropped palpably.
"I would like to sit with him, doctor," Teyla said as she stood.
"He's in no condition …."
Teyla held up a hand. "His kind react to trauma by shifting – it is a survival instinct. No doubt you have all witnessed this?" She gave everyone a stern once over, and no one met her eyes. "I can help keep him calm until you have established adequate pain control. I am certain you do not wish him to tear himself open again?"
Carson drew in his lips but nodded. "All right. Good point. Come with me, then. The rest of you – get some rest. Especially you, major – you lost a good deal of blood, too."
"Yes, doc," Lorne said as he settled back down.
Carson peeked in on Elizabeth – she was still sleeping and her vitals looked stable. Then he was leading Teyla back to post-op. "So, you're familiar with his kind," he said somewhat casually. "Are you…?"
"No, I am not a changeling," she replied. She could feel his curiosity burning within him, so she calmly said, "I am Sidhe."
Carson was reaching for the door control when she answered, and he missed it and ran into the door. "Bloidy hell!" he said, both registering surprise and pain in the words. "You are?" he said as he held a hand to his cheek, his eyes watering from the pain.
Teyla nodded and ran her hand down the door control.
"Well, now," he said as he stepped through the wide door with her. "I really shouldn't be surprised – I've seen werepanthers and pixies and vampires in the last twenty-four hours. A member of the Faerie folk shouldn't surprise me. Bloidy hell."
Teyla slowed and let out a pained sound in the back of her throat. Her hand went to her mouth as she fought to get the wave of pain she was bombarded with under control.
"Aye, he's a right mess," Carson said softly.
Keller was just removing the intubation tube from John, the anesthesiologist watching vitals, and she glanced back at them the second it was free. She frowned in curiosity at them.
"This young lady is here to help," Carson said in explanation.
Teyla took in a deep breath and smiled very faintly. "I have not been called a young lady in well over a century. Thank you, doctor," she said as she stepped up to the gurney and looked down.
Half of John's face seemed to be nothing but purpling bruise, the rest deathly pale skin that made his dark beard stubble stand out in stark contrast. There were numerous tubes and drains coming out from underneath the thick dressings across his stomach, and just as many tubes leading into his arms bringing whole blood and other fluids. There were bandages wrapped around both forearms, his thighs, and his left leg was sitting up on a few pillows, the calf heavily wrapped, and more tubes went under the folded sheet that covered his groin.
Teyla had to step aside then as a couple nurses appeared with fresh, warm blankets to cover him. As she waited she watched the pulse in his throat leap wildly in accompaniment to the annoying beep of the monitors, and his breathing was fast and shallow. They finished and she stepped back, gently pulled the blanket back from his chest, and placed a hand over his heart. She didn't cry out when the pain hit her, but she did double over. She felt the doctor's presence next to her a moment later. "I am all right," she assured him as she straightened back up. "You will need to up the pain medication – his kind metabolizes them faster than … humans." She took a few deep breaths and centered herself, then placed her other hand lightly on his forehead, her thumb gently stroking the spot between his eyebrows. It bothered her that she was not picking up any thoughts from him yet, and hoped it was because of the anesthetic. Then she closed her eyes and concentrated on channeling calming energy into him as the effects of the anesthetic slowly wore off.
Carson and Keller watched closely and continued with their post-op routine. After a few minutes his pulse began to slow and they could actually see some of the tension leach out of his body. Almost an hour later Teyla opened her eyes and gave the doctors an incredibly exhausted smile. "He is sleeping now. I will remain close in case you need any assistance with him." Then she promptly sat down.
Carson and Keller got under each arm and helped her to her feet. They led her over to one of rolling stools in the room and sat her down. She waved them off and smiled apologetically. "I am fine – just tired. I have not done that in awhile. It is very draining."
"We'll set ya up in a bed shortly," Carson said. "What exactly did yae do?" He glanced towards John briefly and saw his vitals were holding steady.
"Empathic redirection," Teyla replied. "You could call it psychic Valium. It helps with trauma."
Carson grunted. They could all use a little of that right now.
-oOo-
Late the next afternoon the helicopter was sent to Vancouver to bring back some very important guests – a general from Washington and a suit appointed by the Board to investigate the goings on of the last year and the current series of events. Lorne was up on crutches already, much to Carson's protests, but he really didn't have much of a choice in the matter, and he and Rodney were waiting for the chopper when it arrived. Rodney even dug out his one and only suit, but he had to borrow a tie from Zelenka – the only two he owned were stained. He personally thought the burgundy paisley thing was absolutely hideous, but it actually went quite well with his blue-gray suit and several people had complimented him on it. But he was still nervous as hell, and as the rotors slowed he smoothed his jacket and for the twentieth time said, "Are you sure this looks okay? I mean, it doesn't scream 'clipped from the upholstery of a questionable bordello' to you, does it?"
"It looks fine, doc," Lorne said and tried to stand as straight as he could with the crutches. "Paisley is a classic." He was wearing his dress uniform – he didn't want to take any chances, either. The two guards with him were trying very hard not to snicker, but a quick glance from him shut that down right quick.
The rotors stopped and the little group approached. One of the guards jogged forward and held the door open and the two passengers stepped out onto the helipad. Lorne offered a quick salute and got a casual one in return. "General O'Neill, Mr. Woolsey, welcome to Atlantis. Hope the flight out was uneventful."
"Uneventful, long, and incredibly boring," O'Neill replied. He glanced up at the clear sky, his eyes already hidden behind sunglasses. "I thought the weather out here was supposed to be, well, gloomy."
"It normally is, three hundred days out of the year," Rodney replied. "But an unexpected high pressure front moved in from the south, and produced unseasonably warm temp…." His words trailed off as O'Neill gave him a pained grimace. Rodney twitched and grimaced himself and rubbed his forehead. "It warmed up."
"Huh," O'Neill replied.
"That's all fine and dandy, but we don't have the time to stand around and chat about the weather," Woolsey replied as he switched his briefcase over to his other hand and checked his watch. His bald head gleamed in the sunshine. "We have a lot of information to go over in a short amount of time. I trust everything is in order?"
"Yes, sir, it is," Lorne replied.
"Good." Woolsey just started walking briskly for the doors.
O'Neill clapped his hands together and rubbed them briefly. "Okay, then. Major, shall we?"
"Yes, sir." As they followed Woolsey Lorne said, "I'll have my men make sure your bags get to your rooms in case you want to freshen up after your trip."
"Ah, don't worry about it. We're going to get right to work – get this unpleasantness out of the way."
"Understood, sir."
Woolsey stopped at the doors, turned around, and flashed the stragglers an impatient frown.
"Yeah, as soon as possible," O'Neill muttered. "Oh, hey – I hear the food is pretty good here."
"It's excellent, actually," Rodney replied. "Much better than Area 51."
O'Neill glanced sideways at him. "I thought you looked familiar. McAvoy, is it?"
Lorne clamped down on his lips as Rodney grimaced. "It's, it's McKay."
"Oh, yeah. That's right." He raised a finger. "Didn't you have a thing for…."
"Time's wasting, gentlemen," Woolsey said, then clomped on inside.
"After you, sir," Lorne said and held the door for the general. Then he and Rodney were exchanging pained grimaces. It was going to be a long week.
End Note: And they feed Woolsey to Michael!! Heh, bet they're gonna be considering that in a few hours...
