Health Matters
By K Hanna Korossy
"Here," Rodney McKay said tiredly, pushing the electronic clipboard at Radek. "Try those."
Radek took only a cursory glance before looking back up at him. "This is wrong, Rodney," he said gently.
Rodney's face pinched; they didn't have time for this--didn't Radek know they didn't have time for this? "What do you mean, it's wrong? You barely looked at it!" Irritation only made his hoarseness more pronounced.
"This part," Zelenka pointed. "That output would completely burn out the circuits, you know that."
He was right. It was obvious now, the question was just why it had seemed brilliant five minutes before. "Of course I knew that," Rodney said petulantly, snatching the clipboard back. "Any fifth grader would know that. I was just...testing you." It was cold in the lab and he shivered; he'd have to look at the heating systems next. After the crisis-du-jour was solved.
"I passed fifth grade." Radek's dry tone changed to concern. "Why don't you go to bed, Rodney? Even the mighty Dr. McKay can become sick sometimes."
"I'm not sick, how many times do I have to tell you that? I'm just tired."
"So tired, you are running a fever and are in pain."
"Fine," Rodney snapped. "You want to work on this alone, be my guest." He turned and stormed out of the lab, leaving Radek sputtering something behind him.
He made it as far as the hallway before vertigo struck with a vengeance, sending him reeling against the wall. "Whoa," Rodney muttered, one arm and shoulder and an intense desire not to puddle on the floor, all that kept him upright. "Great, now he's jinxed me."
The fact was that getting sick was a dirty word around the city. It meant either another bug they'd brought along with them from Earth or a new one from one of the planets they'd been to. More importantly, it meant work ground to a halt while ridiculous physical weaknesses were catered to. The whole thing was inefficient, ridiculous, and a complete waste of time. Sick leave--yet another thing Rodney planned to work on eradicating, as soon as the city stopped spinning around him.
Okay, so maybe a little sleep wouldn't hurt.
He pushed away from the wall and made his way to the nearest transporter in shuffling, unsteady steps. Rodney had to poke the control panel twice before he ended up in the right section of the city. Another glitch to fix, he sighed.
At least his room was close, chosen for just that virtue. Rodney headed for it with single-minded purpose; the sooner he got to bed, the sooner he could get back to work. And the sooner he could shut his eyes against the waver that had settled into his vision on the trip down. It was making it hard to stay on his feet.
His room, thank God. "Hello, bed," Rodney murmured to the piece of furniture he hadn't seen in some time now. There was a cot in his lab when needed, but sometimes he just slept at his workbench. With the Genii invasion still a fresh memory, there was just too much to do to repair the damage they'd inflicted, fortify the city to prevent it from happening again, and, of course, continue to search for ZedPMs for the inevitable showdown with the Wraith. No pressure there. But a few minutes of sleep would do him good. The mattress gave so comfortably under his weight as he crawled onto it. A few minutes, then...
Rodney slept.
*****
He awoke partially, looking around the darkened room with heavy-lidded languor. His head felt weighted and his body hurt whenever he moved. But he was thirsty, and Rodney cast around for a glass of water, canteen, anything.
Nothing. And the bathroom was so far away.
He made a small sound of discomfort and curled under the blankets, wishing he had more than the two layers everyone in the city used. It was cold enough to make his teeth chatter and his head feel ready to explode...or was that implode? He really should be working. Rodney started to rise, only to sink back with a groan. Too much effort; he should sleep a little more.
He was just so thirsty. Even in Russia, the sink had been next to his bed in his small room, and he'd managed to drag himself up for a drink when needed. Russia had been cold like this. Was Svetlana still there? He should write her and see. Oh, that's right, no contact with Earth. He had to work on that, too. Rodney made it halfway upright this time before a wave of weakness pushed him back into bed.
He was sick. He should probably call Carson. But where was the phone? Svetlana took his calipers but she hadn't touched his phone, had she? Everything around him was blurry. Something else to fix. Later...
Rodney curled up with a moan and dozed.
*****
"McKay!"
There was banging. Some troglodyte trying to fix the machinery again. He kept telling them hitting the delicate equipment never worked. Well, maybe that one time.
"Rodney, you in there?"
Where else would he be? He was always there. Everyone relied on Rodney McKay.
"McKay, I'm coming in."
His tongue seemed to be broken, too. Everything stopped working if he didn't pay attention.
"Rodney?"
He had to get back to work. They'd be mad. Things would fall apart. But his head was too heavy to lift. When had they turned up gravity, and why hadn't he known about it?
There was something cold against his forehead, like he needed to be colder, and he pulled away from it fretfully. The touch that skimmed his shoulder was less unpleasant, especially when it gently kneaded away some of the soreness there. "That's some fever you're running, Rodney."
He wasn't running anything. They kept shutting his funding down.
The voice faded to background chatter, but he was used to that, used to the whispers and comments behind his back. Like he could've understood the Russian if they'd spoken to his face.
"Okay, help's on the way. Let's get you warmed up a little until then."
Warmth. Rodney swallowed. That actually sounded...good. He'd hated the Russian cold.
Weight settled on him, and his shivering decreased, inching the imminent explosion in his head from critical to merely alarming. Rodney tried to hold still but it only made it worse.
An icy hand slid under his cheek and lifted the lump of heavy metal he was euphemistically calling a head. Then, water! He was thirsty but could only manage a lazy lap at the trickle at his lips.
"That's enough--I'll give you more later." His head sank into the pillow again. "Geez, McKay, how long've you been here like this?"
Time was relative. There was math to that, and he tried to open his eyes to explain it, but they only opened halfway. Everything was breaking down.
"Rodney?" There was blurred movement, dark on top of light. "Take it easy, okay? You're gonna be fine, looks like you just picked up a nasty bug."
Good...good. Because now that he mentioned it, Rodney had wondered a little if he was dying. A hard shiver tore through him, jostling his aching head, and he shut his eyes again with a moan.
A hand started rubbing his back, generating friction, which generated heat. It moved on to his arm, pausing to squeeze his shoulder. Generating comfort.
"You can go back to sleep, McKay. Everything's fine."
That wasn't true, but he couldn't seem to argue it. And Rodney wondered, as he sank into the deep dark, how John Sheppard had ended up in Russia.
*****
He was lost.
The landscape was unfamiliar, and wrong somehow. Rodney stumbled through it with rising panic, wondering what he was doing there and why he was alone.
Then again, he was always alone, wasn't he?
No. When they visited planets, he was with his team. Sheppard wouldn't have let him go alone.
"I'm right here, Rodney."
He whipped around at the voice, and saw nothing.
Okay, that was disconcerting.
Then the landscape started melting.
It didn't make sense. Things always made sense, he just had to figure them out. If only his brain didn't feel like it was packed in cotton wool. That would've been a nice start.
That invasive cold wracked him again, settled into his bones, and Rodney frowned as he felt something swaddled around him, again cutting the chill. But he was alone, on the planet...
"You're not alone, McKay." It was a tired voice, determined but weary. "Check it out, I'm holding your hand and everything."
He tried to lift his hands to look at them, but one felt tied down, the other was-- He flexed his fingers, feeling fingers not his own flex back.
"See? You should be flattered--I'm usually not that easy."
Rodney wanted to laugh and didn't know why.
Everything was wrong. He didn't know where he was, he was alone, and, most alarming, he was confused, the mind he relied on to fix everything apparently balking at getting him out of this fix. Rodney winced miserably.
He'd told the few people who'd asked that he loved Russia. Good food--that wasn't a lie--interesting people, which mostly was, and lots of work. It was a shame he'd been given a team of trained monkeys to do it. But that wasn't all that different from what he was used to, and if he worked around the clock, he could almost ignore how lonely it was. Not like he was getting all that many letters from friends back home, either, but the language barrier was new. Nothing like not understanding anyone to make you feel utterly isolated.
Then he'd gotten sick, and nearly died before it occurred to someone he wasn't just being standoffish and they checked on him. Not that the grey infirmary had been all that better.
Was that where he was now? Rodney pried his eyes open, and stared in confusion at amber and dusky gold walls.
"Hey," came the friendly greeting. "So you're in there after all, huh?"
His gaze trailed dully up the orange panels, to a face he didn't immediately recognize. Then the eyebrow rose, the mouth quirking into a grin, and even though the name still escaped Rodney, the rush of warmth told him he knew who it was. Seemed to be telling him it was a friend, too, but he knew better. He hadn't made any in Russia, not even Svetlana.
"Doc says you should have some water if you wake up-he even got you a straw. VIP treatment, huh?" The cheerful voice cajoled him as something bumped his lips.
Rodney sipped slowly and with effort, staring at the fuzzy face and wishing it had a name.
He drank until he ran out of energy, then regretfully let the straw go. But he stared at the face as long as he could keep his eyes open.
It seemed to melt a little under his gaze. "You should get some more sleep, Rodney--Beckett says the fever's gonna break soon, but you're gonna need a lot of rest to get back on your feet. Dr. Z's already lining up projects no one else can figure out and people for you to yell at. Sounds kinda fun, actually." The fingers still wrapped around his tightened briefly.
Rodney realized with a start this couldn't be Russia. No one there had bothered to sit with him and try to make him feel better, let alone looked at him like that. Like they cared if he lived or died. Like they were scared to find out which one it would be.
Like a friend.
So, not Russia. But where...?
And it whispered in his mind, as if coming from the place itself. Home.
Yeah, okay, that was a little disconcerting, too, and more than a little creepy. But it also felt right, like the thumb that rubbed the back of his hand, and the coaxing order, "It's all right, go back to sleep, Rodney. Give that big brain a rest."
For once, he didn't feel like arguing. Maybe, just this once, he could take something on faith.
Rodney McKay, cynic and self-protective misanthrope, gave himself up to the care of his friend and slept.
*****
He jolted awake to the knowledge he had a lot of work waiting for him.
A small hand pressed his shoulder back to the bed. "Lie still, Dr. McKay. All is well."
Rodney blinked at the speaker, mind feeling frighteningly sluggish. "Teyla?"
She nodded. "You have been ill for some time. You need to rest."
He flopped back into his pillow, feeling the truth of her words, and realizing he was in the infirmary. Great, Rodney shut his eyes wearily, just what they needed: more delays, because of a stupid virus.
Memory stirred with vague images and imprints.
Rodney frowned, peeled his eyes open again, and looked around the bed, past Teyla to his right, then to the left. Ah. He nodded his head tiredly that way, only to have it nearly wobble off the pillow. Right, no calisthenics yet. Silly him. "How long's he been here?"
Teyla followed his gaze, mouth softening into a smile at the sight of the sleeping figure slid half down in a chair. "Major Sheppard had missed you at meals and went to look for you. He found you ill in your room. He called Dr. Beckett for assistance, and has stayed with you since."
Rodney started. "That's just a couple of hours, right? I mean, how long have I been here?"
Her eyes were somber. "Dr. McKay, you have been very ill. You have been in the infirmary the better part of a week."
A week? He stared at her, stunned, then back at Sheppard. Who, come to think of it, was looking a little scruffier and ring-eyed than usual. But a week?
"Shall I wake him for you?" Teyla asked.
Rodney licked his lips, yanked his gaze away. "Uh, no. No, that's okay. He looks...tired."
"As do you." She inclined her head. "You should sleep as well."
She was right; even after apparently sleeping for nearly a week, his body still craved more, and Rodney reluctantly felt himself giving in. He turned back to Teyla, suddenly conscious he had more than one person there looking after him. "Thanks, I'll, uh, I'll be fine."
She smiled at him, her hand curling around his wrist. Probably some abbreviated form of the Athosian greeting to avoid sharing germs, but he nodded awkwardly and watched her walk out.
"She's right, you know," Sheppard spoke up from apparent sleep without moving a muscle. "You look worse than that time you got drunk on those fermented berries on M-whatever."
Rodney felt a flush warm his cheeks. "It's not nice to eavesdrop, Major."
Sheppard opened his eyes, stretched, gave him a cocky smile. "It's not nice to talk about someone behind their back, McKay."
He tried to harrumph, and yawned widely instead. Rodney glared at Sheppard when that seemed to amuse him.
"Go to sleep, McKay." He leaned forward to pat Rodney's arm. "You can insult me tomorrow. I'll even give you a head start."
Rodney resisted encroaching sleep, feeling the pull of duty, the reason they always wanted him and pretended to care. "The sensor grid--it needs--"
"Not today." Sheppard had moved into command mode. "It can wait until you get back on your feet."
He blinked at Sheppard, reminded suddenly of Russia again, but only in contrast. It shouldn't have made a bit of difference in his recovery if someone sat by his side and took his hand when he reached out, yet somehow it did. A lot.
He forgot sometimes this friendship thing worked both ways and had some definite perks besides the worry and the distraction and the struggle to find the right words.
"Tomorrow," Rodney finally agreed.
"Tomorrow." John nodded. "I'll be here if you need something."
He would. Rodney's eyes gave up the fight to stay open, but he eased his limp and aching body onto its side, toward Sheppard. The least he could do was not turn his back on his visitor.
For the first in a long time, he felt warm, inside and out. And before he went to sleep, Rodney couldn't help but think there were some things around there that worked just fine, after all.
