The Smell of the Blood
By K Hanna Korossy
"Medical team to the gate room."
The call came in Grodin's soft tones but with unmistakable tension. Not that a call like that was ever for good news. Carson Beckett's heart rate immediately sped up a few beats, and the rise of adrenalin sharpened his senses while he pulled together a team and supplies in a few short seconds. As much as he didn't like those calls, he got plenty of them, and was always ready to go.
The Ancients had probably faced the same problem and so had built the infirmary not far from the gate and control room. Carson and his team were there within the minute, just in time to see the shield on the gate sparkle out of existence. Seconds later, three figures, stumbling but intact, came through into Atlantis. Three, not four, and it didn't take long to figure out which team medical assistance been summoned for and who was missing. Teyla, Ford, and Rodney were still grouped tightly in the middle of the large room, but there was no sight of John Sheppard. Nor were they looking back at the gate waiting for him to follow them.
The gate quietly shut down.
Carson surged forward with his people, stepping toward Teyla first, who waved them off. He still pointed a tech at her to check her vitals, then turned to Rodney instead.
"What happened?" Elizabeth Weir had come up behind him and beat him to the question. Considering Rodney's flushed face and galloping pulse, Carson wasn't even sure the scientist could answer, but he did, gaze flicking restlessly between Elizabeth and the doctor.
"Wraith. They hit about an hour ago."
Carson's blood chilled as he now realized why they might not have been expecting Sheppard to follow. No wonder Rodney's BP was through the roof.
"Major Sheppard..." Elizabeth again echoed his thoughts.
"The Sen locked him up," Ford said coldly. One of Carson's people were on his either side, checking vitals and the dried blood down the side of his face. "They think we're responsible for the Wraith coming now."
Carson took a breath. Prisoner of a frightened people still seemed a far better fate than prisoner of the Wraith. He could hear the relief in Elizabeth's voice, too.
"Is he all right?"
"The Sen say he is safe. They are angry, however, and will not let us see him." Teyla stepped past her helpless tech and approached Elizabeth with an intent gaze. "The Sen are a peaceful people--we were in negotiations for trade and diplomatic relations when the Wraith attacked. I do not believe they intend to harm Major Sheppard, but they are frightened and seek someone to blame."
"I see."
"Do you? Because I'm having a little trouble with the whole concept of putting Sheppard in prison for what the Wraith do. We haven't even seen him since the attack started--for all he knows, we're dead and he's stranded there."
Elizabeth pursed her lips, annoyance tempered by understanding. Carson traded a glance with her before he directed a soothing "shh" at his patient. Rodney glared at him but backed off, his blood pressure finally falling fractionally.
"Do they need recovery help?" Elizabeth finally asked.
Carson looked up in surprise, seeing Ford do the same. Rodney was just glowering at everyone.
Teyla nodded approvingly. "Nearly half their people survive, although their village has been badly damaged. I do not believe help would be refused."
"We're gonna help them after what they did to--"
"Lieutenant," Elizabeth said sternly, then softened. "Do you think these people, these... Sen deserved to be attacked by the Wraith? Or a full military assault from us?"
He grimaced, head dropping. "No, ma'am."
"Then we'll offer them whatever help we can. I can't think of a better way to prove to them we weren't responsible for the Wraith attack, and if that also gives us the leverage we need to ask for Major Sheppard's release, all the better. Agreed?"
Teyla nodded once, Ford following a moment later. Rodney's jaw set stubbornly, but Elizabeth didn't seem to be waiting for his approval.
"All right. Dr. Beckett, I'd like you to assemble your people to help treat survivors. Lieutenant, you'll be in charge of a team to help the Sen dig out. We leave in one hour."
Carson started to repack his kit, only to pause as Rodney crouched down beside him. "I hear your portable x-ray's been giving you trouble."
"What?" He frowned. "Where did you--?"
"You might need someone along who can fix it if it starts acting up, right?"
Ah. He snorted. "Is that the best you could come up with, Rodney?" Elizabeth herself wouldn't have tried to keep Rodney from returning to the planet's surface, even if there would have been limited use for an astrophysicist in disaster relief, let alone a hypochondriac, allergic, hypoglycemic astrophysicist.
A discomfited shrug. "Give me a break, I'm still trying to get used to having escaped certain death one more time."
Carson nodded. "Come along then. I can use your help... toting the portable x-ray."
Rodney followed him out, but not without a plaintive, "Maybe I could carry something lighter instead? How about the bandages?"
*****
The tent flapped open while Carson was in mid-yawn, and he opened his eyes to the sight of Rodney's hunched back as the scientist collected a mug of this planet's version of tea. When Rodney turned toward him, Carson saw he didn't look much better than he himself felt.
"Carson." He dropped down at the folding table across from Beckett.
"Rodney. Any progress with negotiations?"
Balloon, meet pin. "They're being completely irrational! The Wraith happen to attack while we're here, and not only is it all our fault, but locking up Sheppard will fix everything. Oh, and they're grateful for all the aid and please send more, but Elizabeth even asks to see the major, let alone that they let him go, and suddenly they act like we're speaking Ancient. It's so..." He sputtered, at the end of even his bottomless pit of words.
"Frustrating?" Carson offered.
"Yes!"
"Ah." He nodded wisely, resisting the urge to ask if that meant "no" on the progress. Rodney's blood pressure continued to be high enough as it was. But there was something he still had to know, both as doctor and as friend. "Are we certain they even have him?"
"They gave us his vest." Rodney waved a hand dismissively. "They say he's safe, and Elizabeth believes them... that they just have him locked up somewhere, probably someplace tight if he hasn't broken free yet. The man could put Houdini to shame." Rodney's tone had fallen, the last probably meant only for himself, but like a good doctor, Carson listened and silently diagnosed. One of the reasons he counted himself among the few friends Rodney seemed to have was that he'd paid attention enough to notice that half the time the scientist was upset and snapping at everyone around him, it was because he was afraid for others, not himself. And he was definitely worried about the major now. It was just unfortunate that altruism and self-centeredness both came out in the same caustic whine.
Carson knuckled sleep out of his eyes. Two days of treating wounded Sen had taken their toll, both on his medical supplies and his stamina. "If he's safe, then there's time to make the Sen change their mind."
Rodney stared at him like he'd just suggested they leave Sheppard behind for good. "They're blaming him for the Wraith attack and have him locked up. Which appalling part of that isn't sinking into the mound of haggis you call a brain?"
One more time, Carson swallowed an equally sarcastic reply and watched instead for the smaller signs, the subtle hints that often got lost in Rodney McKay's broad outrage and flood of words. And narrowed his eyes now with sudden suspicion. "What aren't you saying, Rodney?"
"Me?" The sudden innocent expression clinched it. "Nothing. Why would I be hiding something? What, the unfair sentence and imprisonment isn't outrageous enough for you?"
He dodged the offensive as the vague effort to distract him that it was. "It's the major, isn't it?"
There was a comical moment of Rodney's mouth battling with his brain and possibly his conscience, every argument and counterargument plain on his face. Then suddenly he glanced around the empty tent and leaned in, his face unusually still. "He still blames himself sometimes. For the Wraith waking up."
Sheppard hadn't been to blame for unleashing their worst enemy on them, but he had played a part and Carson wasn't too surprised it continued to weigh on his spirit. He leaned in to share the confidential tone. "He told you that?"
"Sort of." Rodney squirmed in place, fingers clenching and releasing his mug. "Not in so many words, but... yes."
And still McKay surprised him sometimes. Not in that he shared a confidence with their introverted military head, because Beckett had seen for some time now the seeds of that friendship set down surprisingly deep roots and grow. What impressed Carson was that despite neither seeming to have much experience with the concept, they'd still developed an intuition with each other that was occasionally uncanny. When they weren't obtusely knocking against each other's walls, anyway. "I see," Carson said slowly. "So you think he's sitting and wallowing in--"
"I don't think anything, okay?" Confidence-sharing was over, and Rodney looked like he was already regretting he'd spoken a word. "All I'm saying is, no one should have to take the blame here, let alone sit in isolation day after day to think about his imaginary crimes while wondering if anyone's coming after him."
And there, Carson recognized wearily, was the part Rodney still wasn't talking about. One of the first things he had learned about their young major was that he did not leave his own behind, but it had taken a while longer to realize how important the reverse also was for him. Half the time, John got himself out of trouble without any help at all, but the rest, he expected--in some ways, even needed--his team to come after him.
One member of said team was certainly pulling at the tether to do so.
"Elizabeth isn't ready to let Lieutenant Ford do it his way?"
Rodney snorted. "Are you ready for more casualties? All of Ford's plans involve the enthusiastic use of considerable amounts of explosives and bullets. The Sen may be idiots, but they don't deserve that on top of a Wraith culling." But logic didn't keep him from sounding a tad wistful at the notion.
Carson swallowed a smile. "So, business as usual."
"What else?" Rodney didn't hold back his own, but it was bitter. "We keep helping them rebuild, and they keep Sheppard. Sounds like a fair trade, doesn't it?" He rose, mug empty, and went to the jug to refill it.
"No, it doesn't," Carson said softly. Then cleared his throat. "Are you busy now, Rodney?"
He got a slit-eyed glance for that. "Not unless you count wasting my talents on clearing debris. Why?"
"I could use your help," he lied effortlessly. It was worth it when he saw the leap of relief in McKay's eyes. He'd barely seen the scientist since they'd reached the planet; portable x-ray or not, Rodney had been quickly conscripted for digging out. Unfortunately, mindless physical labour had left too much time to think, especially for someone who usually used his head more than his hands.
"Really?"
Carson nodded. "Really."
A moment's hesitation. "This doesn't have to do with blood or holding someone down while you amputate body parts or something, does it?"
He rolled his eyes. "No, Rodney."
"Oh. Well. Okay, I'm all yours."
And wasn't that a pleasant thought? But there were patients to be distracted--browbeaten out of their misery, if he knew Rodney--and supplies to be organized and battlefield treatment logistics to figure out, and too few of his staff to do it. Another hand would be helpful. More importantly, it would keep Rodney busy and at least a fraction of that impressive mind of his occupied with something other than worry about their missing major.
Carson stood, leaving his own half-full mug. The break had been more for distraction of his own than for nourishment.
"Let's go then."
But leaving the tent with Rodney in tow, he felt more burdened than when he'd arrived.
*****
"That isn't the most efficient way to do that. Here, give it to me."
Carson grinned to himself, safely turned away, as he checked the IV of one of their Sen patients. Half his staff was ready to mutiny, the other half to murder Rodney McKay, but somehow Carson couldn't seem to get upset over it. For all his antagonism, the scientist had gotten both the nursing shifts and the supplies organized, and even actually fixed the portable x-ray when it astonished Carson by breaking down. From there, Rodney had moved on to "supervising" the nurses. Carson would have to put a stop to that and soon, but at the moment he was naughtily enjoying it too much.
Two Sen, a man and a woman, appeared in the doorway of the building he'd co-opted as a clinic and hospital, and Carson glanced them over, looking for injuries. None that he could see. "Can I help you?" he asked politely. Rodney fell silent behind him.
They stepped inside but hesitated to speak. Carson's attention sharpened.
The woman finally winced, and spoke. "Doctor, we believe you are needed for... another patient."
He let out his breath. "Is that all? Well, bring them in."
"No," she shook her head. "You must come with us."
"Why?" That was Rodney, stepping up beside him. Carson shot him a glare, but McKay wasn't looking at him.
Another hesitation. "We will show you. I promise, this is no trap."
He hadn't really worried about that; for all their anger at Major Sheppard, the Sen had been grateful for the medical help with their injured. It wouldn't make sense for them to hurt him.
Rodney, however, wasn't so trusting. "I'm coming with him."
"Rodney, that's really--"
"He may come, but you must hurry."
Carson nodded, grabbing his bag from a nearby bottom shelf and stuffing a few supplies into it. They hadn't said it was a medical emergency, but doctors didn't usually get called in on engineering consults. Carson glanced around the room, trying to figure out if there was something else he should bring. "Nurse Dean, you're with me," he said absently. The defib? It was heavy, and there was no reason to--
"Only two," the man interrupted.
Carson frowned. "All right. Rodney, you stay--"
"I'm going, Carson."
He was about to protest, when he saw Rodney's hand curl around the sidearm he was still wearing. Ah. Well, perhaps a bodyguard wasn't a bad idea. Rodney would not have been his first choice, and it was vaguely frightening to be taking tactical advice from an astrophysicist, but McKay was still a lot more field-trained than he was. Carson nodded, and shoved the defibrillator at Rodney before gathering his bag and following the two Sen out. Silent for once, Rodney fell into step behind him.
The walk was long, to the far side of the ruined town, a part Carson hadn't been in before. They were still finding survivors in the rubble three days later; maybe there was a patient who was trapped and had to be treated on site. That didn't explain the secrecy, but for all their politeness and gratitude, the Sen hadn't exactly embraced them.
They turned away from the collapsed structures, however, and went inside one of the still-intact ones, their boots echoing now off wooden floors and walls. Fire was still a danger with the wooden structures the Sen favoured, but most of the flames were at least under control now. Carson didn't see any immediate threat that would have demanded his personal attention.
They arrived at a barred door that was opened for him, and then he knew why he was there.
John Sheppard lay curled on the bare floor, unconscious and obviously ill. Carson muttered a curse under his breath as he quickly crouched beside him, recognizing immediately the signs of infection and fever even if the charred and blood-stained jacket and pants leg hadn't given him the source. Even as he hurried to prepare an antibiotic, his visual exam continued with no happier results: dehydration, first and second degree burns, extensive bruising. They'd all kept assuming the major had escaped unscathed like the rest of them--denial, probably, rather than hope--nor had the Sen given them any reason to think otherwise. They'd all been idiots. But Carson banked his anger for later, concentrating on his patient now as he stabbed the needle into John's good arm.
Rodney, however, had no such compunctions. After a moment of stunned silence, the scientist turned on their two escorts.
"What did you do to him!"
"We did not do anything--Major Sheppard was caught in the--"
"Well, it's obvious you didn't do anything--he's been lying here three days like this, no medical treatment, not even a bed? Are you people sadistic or just insane?"
"Dr. McKay--"
"Did you even come by to check on him? Or did you just think he'd heal all by himself if you left him long enough because, gee, your people need medical care but Major Sheppard doesn't? He could have died in here, and you wouldn't have even known it until the smell started choking you."
Carson wrinkled his nose at that thought. His attention was wrapped up in his patient, but a small part of his brain was listening and cheering Rodney on, especially as Sheppard remained unresponsive to his ministrations.
Their "hosts" weren't trying to defend themselves any longer. That didn't even slow Rodney down. "You should be the ones locked up, not him! We have done everything for you people, and what do you do--you pick a scapegoat and lock him up without medical attention or even basic care, just so you can feel better that you have someone to blame. Well, here's a thought: how about blaming the Wraith? Or is their existence Major Sheppard's fault, too?" His outrage, or maybe his voice, trembled near the end.
"Rodney," Carson said quietly.
"What?" The snapped tone wasn't meant for him, and Rodney's contrite expression as he crouched next to him confirmed as much. "What?" he asked more mutedly.
"Hold this." Carson realized Rodney was still clutching the defibrillator, and he pried it from him before pushing the IV bag into one hand.
Rodney obeyed, eyes wide and face stark as he stared at John. "Is he...?"
"He's not well," Carson said tersely, tearing fabric to get a better look at the burns. Rodney swallowed thickly beside him. "Dehydration, spiralling infection--we need to get him back to Atlantis."
Rodney nodded and reached up with his free hand to key his headset. "Elizabeth, we've got a problem...."
Carson stopped listening. He hadn't even pointed out to Rodney the worst part: the major continued to be unresponsive, limp and unresisting even to Carson's probing of the burned and infected skin. He was weak, perhaps too weak to fight off what would otherwise have been non-fatal injuries. If the Sen had only summoned him a day sooner... But he wouldn't be telling Rodney that as long as he had that gun, and the Sen were nearby. They had enough problems already.
And the one that worried him the most lay in front of them, too still and silent, oblivious to all the worry he was causing his friends. What he was aware of, Carson couldn't even imagine. But considering the haunted look on the young man's face, maybe it was better he didn't know.
*****
It was a good thing triage and treatment had been winding down on the planet, because Carson knew he wasn't getting back there anytime soon.
For all their starchy refusal to let Major Sheppard go in the first few days, the seriousness of his condition and, probably, Rodney's vehement response, had turned some sort of tide. There had been no opposition to them taking Sheppard back to Atlantis with them, and Elizabeth had said there was a new meekness in their negotiations for help and diplomatic relations.
None of which mattered one whit to Carson just then.
His patient had not improved much with treatment, and that gravely concerned the doctor. The burns had been cleaned and covered, the dehydration reversed, and the climbing fever halted. But while the antibiotics hadn't let the infection advance, they hadn't beaten it down, either, and Sheppard's temperature remained dangerously high. Carson had already ordered him packed with ice twice, but more than that and he was afraid the shock to his system would be as dangerous as the fever. All they could do now was keep him as comfortable as possible, treat symptoms or, God forbid, crashes as they occurred, and pray his body and spirit weren't too depleted to do the rest. Carson had always been able to depend on at least the latter, but now....
Sighing, he draped the stethoscope around his neck and walked into the partitioned cubicle that had become John Sheppard's home. The light was dimmer here, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust. The major lay still at the moment, only one fist curling and uncurling in his fitful sleep, but that would change soon enough. Carson didn't know where he got the strength to yell like he had a few times before, or to fight even the minimal restraints they had on him to keep him in bed. But the major was certainly fighting something, Carson just couldn't shake the sinking feeling it was them.
"He doesn't know where he is."
The quiet statement pulled his gaze from the bed to the figure standing by the far partition, his back to Carson and Sheppard. Carson knew he was keenly aware of the sick man's every movement, however.
He sighed again.
"Rodney, he's very sick--what did you expect?"
"I expected him to know he was safe! Instead, he keeps thinking the Wraith have him, or that he's being punished for... And no one's coming to help him."
Carson studied Sheppard's flushed face again, wondering how much he'd said and how much Rodney had filled in blanks. From the little he'd heard of the delirious ramblings, though, he had an idea Rodney wasn't far off the mark. "Just give him another day--"
McKay spun to face him, the restless energy that usually imbued him suddenly back. "Another day in which he thinks we're all dead and he's been abandoned--that's not acceptable, Carson!" he spat.
"Well, what do you suggest I do?" Carson snapped back. He hadn't been getting any more sleep than Rodney, and his nerves had been worn thin with fifty times as many people to worry about than their head scientist had.
"I don't know; you're the doctor, supposedly. Doctor him, pull something out of that magic black bag, shake a rattle over him if it helps, but do something. He can't..." Rodney's hand waved helplessly. "He can't keep doing this."
The tremor in his voice doused Carson's anger like a cold draft. The way Rodney's mouth ran, sometimes it was easy to forget that feelings ran surprisingly deep under that prickly exterior. Carson suspected Major Sheppard had been the first real friend in the man's life, and the thought of losing him had to be terrifying. "He's worn out, Rodney," Carson said quietly. "He's exhausted, his body's been through an ordeal, and the first three days he was alone. I'm not sure he has anything left to fight with."
"He is not giving up," Rodney said vehemently. Sheppard murmured something, his head rolling on the pillow, and with hesitant motions, Rodney stepped back to the bed and laid a hand on his arm. It didn't seem to have any noticeable effect except for Sheppard's voice rising, the jumble of words having something to do with the Wraith, before falling into incoherent mumble.
"I didn't say he was giving up," Carson corrected. "I think we both know the major better than that. But..." His eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"
"What?" Rodney gave him a baffled look. "When? I didn't say anything."
"About the major thinking we're dead."
"Oh." There was a fresh weariness in his face. "Not you, us; his team, us--Teyla, Ford, and me. He thinks we were killed during the Wraith attack."
Carson made a face. That was news, and unwelcome news at that. It explained something else he'd heard in the major's voice: fear that had nothing to do with creatures who could suck out your life's essence. Sheppard wasn't one to give up no matter what the case, but it was another burden he didn't need on what was already an uphill climb. "Well, all the more reason, then, that he might not be able to do this alone."
"He isn't alone, but that doesn't do any good if he doesn't know we're here, Carson." Rodney had gone back to talking to him like he was ten.
"Then show him," was all Carson answered. Not that it was that simple, not at all. The mind worked in strange ways they would never completely understand. If Major Sheppard blamed himself for the death of his team or the waking of the Wraith, no amount of treatment or the battling of his friends would be able to save him. But if he'd left room for hope, and if said friends were determined... Carson had seen far more impossible things happen before.
Rodney blinked at him, then down at the arm he was clutching. "But..."
Carson smiled, just a little. "You're doing fine, Rodney." And glancing once more over the readings on the monitors, he nodded and walked out again. He had an update to give Elizabeth, and he wasn't sure at all yet what he would say.
*****
In all, Atlantis wasn't that different from dealing with patients' families back home. The whole clan would come to the hospital for news about their family member and camp out in the waiting room until the tide was turned and the patient released. There was no waiting room here, but the rest was very familiar.
Not that any families had come to Atlantis per se, but they'd formed after arrival. The scientists usually had other scientists waiting for news of them, and the military men their comrades-in-arms. Sometimes those Carson would have least expected it from also got a visit from someone in the other camp. The only consistent mixes were the off-world teams, and few as tenacious as that of Major Sheppard, particularly when the major himself was the patient.
Carson turned away from the infirmary door, just having sent a half-asleep Lieutenant Ford to his room for at least a four-hour nap. Knowing marines as he did, he expected Ford would be back in four hours on the dot. Teyla was already gone, also returning to her room for the Athosian version of prayer for a fellow warrior. Carson hadn't asked if that was done in all cases of injury or those that seemed most dire, not particularly wanting to know. Elizabeth had stopped in a few times in the nearly three days they'd been back from the planet, but her duties often required her elsewhere. Which left, as always, Rodney.
Carson didn't know how their head scientist, who at other times was irreplaceable and torn between ten projects at the same time, could set it all aside for days when John got hurt, but he could and did. It didn't mean his laptop didn't make an appearance when the waiting got to be too much, or that he didn't doze in the chairs he often complained hurt his back. But he was there, performing some duty Carson suspected he himself didn't understand. From what he knew, he rather doubted Rodney had ever experienced the comfort of a parent or loved one's presence during illness, but he'd tapped into some instinct nonetheless. And Carson wasn't about to discourage him.
He peered into the cubicle, staying out of sight this time, just listening.
"...boot camp to grad school--if he'd had the deadlines I had when I was working on my first PhD, four days with minimal sleep would be nothing." Rodney laughed humourlessly. "That's an idea--what do you think? We could add a few professors to marine training, maybe a dissertation board: they'd have those baby soldiers bawling in minutes."
There was a sigh from the bed, something that almost sounded like "Rodney".
Rodney lifted his head from his contemplation of the floor and examined Sheppard with a calm that said this was hardly the first time he'd gotten some sort of response. But it wasn't what he was looking for, and with resignation and artificial cheer, he continued the one-sided conversation. "I remember this one week from Hell during my third... or was it my fourth semester of school? No, it was--yes! Third semester. I remember because I was studying through Thanksgiving break. This Simon Legree of a professor..."
Carson suddenly noticed Rodney's hand was still in a loose but definite clasp around the major's arm. His voice was hoarse, his posture screaming weariness, but apparently he'd taken the doctor's suggestion to heart about making sure Sheppard knew he wasn't alone. Carson hadn't meant him to take the whole of that duty on himself, and Teyla and Ford and some others of the major's men had stopped in to talk to him, too. But aside from bathroom breaks, wash-ups, and one city-wide power crisis that Rodney hadn't been able to ignore, he'd stayed even through the other visits.
Carson stood there a minute, contemplating reversing himself, letting McKay off the hook. The major's vitals had strengthened the last twenty-four hours, his fever dipping nearly two degrees before digging in again. He hadn't reached a turning point yet, but he'd gotten a lot closer to it. And if Rodney's tenacious one-man campaign to not let him slip away had anything to do with it, Carson was loath to interfere. He could and would step in before Rodney became his patient, too, but right now, he knew healing when he saw it.
Carson stepped away quietly and went to take a nap of his own, confident he was leaving his patients in good hands.
*****
"Carson!"
The shrill call set his feet in motion before he even had a chance to feel fear at what it meant. He'd just checked on the major a few minutes before, relieved at the continual improvement he was seeing in his patient and the sleep his permanent visitor was finally getting, Rodney sprawled in graceless sleep in the chair beside the bed. Had the crash he'd feared finally come, the days of fever and infection having taken their toll?
And then he screeched to a halt just inside the partition, the disbelieving joy in Rodney's expression taking a moment to sink in. Apparently, they'd both been taken by surprise. Carson's eyes automatically tracked to his patient.
Who was looking back at him, weary grin pulling up one corner of his mouth at the sight of his doctor arriving at a run. As if he hadn't spent at least the last three days out of his gourd and worrying all his friends to within an inch of their lives. Carson contrived a scowl at the insolence but couldn't hold it.
"He's awake." Rodney's brilliant pronouncement, still with the same surprise that filled his face. Sheppard's eyes drifted to him, and even through the exhaustion that filled them, Carson could see dawning recognition of the ordeal of those last few days.
"I can see that, Rodney," Carson said dryly, checking temperature the way he still trusted best, by hand, while he felt for pulse. "How're you feeling, Major?"
A long, slow blink, then just as slowly, "You tell me," he whispered.
"Still a bit of a fever, but you're lookin' much better than you were." Carson ran through a few more checks, a little more heartened by each one: lucidity, reflexes, heart and lungs all seemed in good working order.
"That's not saying much," Rodney muttered under his breath.
"What happened?"
That was usually his military patients' first questions. The scientists always wanted to know if they were okay; the soldiers if the situation was stable. "You were injured in a Wraith attack on a mission," Carson said simply. "Everyone else escaped unharmed," he quickly added, seeing the question already forming in the hazel eyes.
"You, however, who never learned to duck, apparently got caught in a collapsing... something or other, the Sen weren't very clear. At which point the natives in all their wisdom decided you were to blame for all their troubles and locked you up for a couple of days without any medical attention or informing us you were hurt." Rodney looked hard at Sheppard. "Can you imagine the stupidity of thinking any one human could be responsible for the feeding habits of a centuries-old race?" Any more pointed and the words would have skewered the man. The way his gaze dropped, John heard it, too. "Anyway, I didn't want to tell you with your already sizeable ego, but Carson insisted."
Carson gaped at Rodney.
Rodney utterly ignored him. "So, uh, we came as soon as we could, Major, isn't that right, Carson?"
He cleared his throat. "Yes."
Sheppard ignored him, too, occupied with some sort of silent contest of wills with Rodney, who promptly cheated by patting him with unusual gentleness on the shoulder.
The major's whole body seemed to exhale, his eyes heavy. "Wasn't sure if..."
"Yes, which is why I think we're all agreed I'm the genius in the group," Rodney said, tone smug and expression serious.
"I never 'greed to that," Sheppard breathed. "You, Doc?"
"Ah, no," Carson quickly said.
"Sorry, Rodney, you..." Sleep cut off the rest of what was sure to have been an impressive cut-down. Carson was rather sorry to miss it.
Rodney's scowl faded as he glanced up. "Is he going to be okay now? I mean, this isn't some last rally before the end, is it?"
Carson shook his head. "No, Rodney. I think he'll be fine. You did a good job."
"Good. Good." There was a wobble in the man. "Because I would really hate to think his final words were a childish insult of my intelligence." And he sank down on the chair behind him as if his legs were no longer sure of themselves.
Carson just shook his head and grinned.
*****
"Are you certain about this, Major?" Carson handed Sheppard back his discarded jacket and watched the ginger motions as he put it on. "You were cleared to return to your room, not to go rebuild a town."
"Don't bother, Carson; I already tried." That was Rodney, just arriving and already looking smug. And, as his gaze swept the major from head to foot, concerned and chagrined. "He's got a hard head."
"Why, thank you, Rodney." Sheppard stood easily. "That's the nicest thing you ever said to me." To Carson he added, "Don't worry, Doc. I'll take it real easy, no heavy lifting or digging. I'll just supervise and order people around like McKay does."
A puff of irritation. "You wish. It takes intelligence to coordinate repairs like I do. You just want to go play the wounded hero."
It struck a chink in the casualness armour, making Sheppard wince. Rodney echoed it a moment later when his brain caught up to his mouth.
"I didn't mean--"
Sheppard shook his head. "Don't worry about it." He swung his good arm around Rodney's shoulders. "Let's go rebuild a planet."
Rodney, who'd recoiled even from Carson's touch at the beginning of the expedition, didn't seem to notice the massive invasion of his personal space, eyes already on the clipboard he held as he talked all through their exit about the tasks that awaited them in the Sen town and how he thought Sheppard might be of help. Only supervisory, non-physical jobs, Carson noted with a smile.
It was still against his medical advice, but he knew why Sheppard needed to return to the planet, to look the people in the eye and work beside them. Some might have called it misplaced guilt or restitution. Carson called it therapy, and Rodney had agreed with him. Sometimes you had to treat the spirit in order to help the body. That was a lesson Rodney McKay was learning, too.
Two-for-one, Carson grinned. And who said medicine wasn't rewarding?
