Under the Skin 2/?
Under the Skin 2/?
Doctor Carson Beckett stared at the patient charts in front of him, the letters and numbers starting to blur before his eyes. When had he last slept? He found he couldn't remember.
He shook his head and rose, moving over to the gurney where Ronon Dex was sleeping. It had been awkward, removing the tracking device in the confines of a moving jumper, the rest of Ronon's teammates hovering around. But the operation had been successful, easier this time since he knew what he was looking for.
They had made a brief pit stop to dump the device back on the planet, and then gotten everyone back to the Daedalus. He had ordered everyone to go get some well-deserved rest, banning them from the infirmary unless they were bleeding or dying, then had whisked his patient away, determined to make sure the man rested while Carson still had some control over him.
He reached out, touching Ronon's wrist, automatically checking his pulse. It was odd, but ever since med school, he had found this to be relaxing. When he knew a patient was out of danger, was resting comfortably-or at least as comfortably as he could get them-he would wait until they were sleeping, then count their heartbeats, reassuring him they were alive.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, counting, before a touch on his shoulder startled him. Dropping his hold on Ronon, he turned to find Anne Matthews, his head nurse, giving him "the look".
He knew that expression, knew what was coming.
"Sir, you need to go get some rest. You won't do anyone any good if we have to admit you as a patient."
Several objections flitted across his mind, but, with a sigh, he decided to give in. He was, admittedly, too tired to argue with her, and when she got in this mood, he knew she would keep at him until she wore him down. "Aye, lass. I'll go grab some dinner, then rest. Call me if anything changes."
Shrugging out of his lab coat, he draped it over a chair and headed out. Maybe they still had turkey sandwiches left in the mess hall. That was one of the few benefits to working on the Daedalus-they only stocked Earth provisions.
Rounding the corner, he grabbed a tray and loaded up-they were out of turkey, but there was some tuna left, which was his second choice. Glancing around for a seat, he spotted Rodney looking at a cup of what he assumed was coffee. Frowning, he made his way over to the man. Why was he drinking stimulants when he should be sleeping?
As he approached, Rodney looked up, a half-hearted sneer crossing his face. "Someone finally kick you out of the infirmary, too?"
With a sigh, Carson dropped his tray on the table and sat down. "Unlike some people, I know when to take a break." He looked pointedly at the cup in the other man's hand.
McKay scowled, eyes dropping to his mug. "I am relaxing."
Carson huffed into his sandwich. "Coffee is not known for its relaxing qualities."
"Yeah, well, maybe where you come from." He shifted, hissing as a flash of pain flew across his face.
Carson's eyes sharpened, looking closely at Rodney. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he hadn't missed the pain. "Lad, if you can't sleep because it hurts, why din'na you come to the infirmary and let me give you something?"
The scientist's scowled deepened. "The last time I asked I was threatened with additionally bodily harm." He paused, eyes firmly fixed on his mug, the liquid swirling around with every movement of his hands. "I'm fine."
Carson felt his eyebrows go up. Of all people to be deterred by a little bit of rough speech, Rodney hadn't been one he would have expected. But then, he could see how tired the chief scientist was, so in a way, it didn't surprise him. Heck, he felt the same way, so worn out it was easier to retreat than argue. He pulled a package of low-grade pain killers he had snagged to take for a headache out of his pocket, and pushed them over the table.
"These will'na kill all the pain, but should take the edge off enough to let you sleep. And no," he decided to head off any paranoia before it could start, "that won't interact with anything else I've given you."
Rodney fingered the packet, the foil crinkling under the light pressure, but didn't pick it up, instead pushing it back across the table. "I'm fine. I'll sleep once we get back to Atlantis. It's only a few more hours now and this," he raised his mug, "is all I need."
Carson scowled, too tired to deal with irritable scientists. He considered his options. "Rodney, you can either take those, forget the coffee, and go to bed, or I'll have one of the marines haul you to the infirmary where I'll have Anne strap you to a gurney to make sure you stay put. Your choice."
Rodney raised an eyebrow, face settling into one of its more stubborn expressions. "I said I'm fine." He rose to his feet, picking up the metal cup from the table. "I have some things to discuss with Hermiod. Thanks again for your most valuable medical advice."
Carson wondered why, exactly, Rodney felt the need to be stubborn. Was it just to irritate him? He managed to catch the eye of the marine near the door, motioning for him to stop Rodney from leaving. Downing the last few bites of sandwich, he abandoned the tray on the table, letting someone else put it away. That was the least of his worries right now.
"I will'na let you pass out on my watch, since I don't think I have any needles big enough to penetrate your thick skull when you knock yourself senseless."
Rodney glared at Carson and the Marine equally, sidestepping around the burly man, getting one foot into the hallway before the marine grabbed his upper arm. "What part of 'I'm fine' do you not understand? Do I have to try saying it with a Scottish accent for you to comprehend that? I'm. Fine."
Carson ignored the ranting, motioning for the grinning Marine to follow. He started down the hall, reaching up to activate his comm. "Anne, luv, I'm bringing a stubborn goat in for you to look after for a bit. Can you prep the isolation area? I want him to get some sleep with no distractions."
Glancing back, he watched as Rodney tried to free his arm, managing instead to slosh the coffee over the edge of the mug he was clutching in his hand, the liquid spilling onto the floor, barely missing his boots. "Would you call off your goon? This wasn't funny when it started and has quickly descended into the depths of absolutely not humorous. I know you must enjoy the power trip, but this is pushing it too far."
Carson turned, his weariness flashing across his face before he could hide it again. "Rodney, I'm your doctor. As much as you like to think you know what's best for you all the time, it's my job to make sure you don't push it too far. We aren't in a crisis at the moment, so there is nae need for you to stay awake. In fact, just the opposite. If a crisis does come up and you can't perform because I din'na get you to sleep, well..." He trailed off, wiping a hand over his face. He dug the packet of ibuprofen out of his pocket that he had grabbed before leaving the table. "Look, just take this and try to get some sleep, and I'll leave you alone."
"What will make you understand that I'm fine, that I don't need you mother-henning me? Do I need to speak slower? Or maybe louder will work." He tried to cross his arms, but the Marine had yet to loosen his grip, which made the gesture nearly impossible. Rodney scowled at the man, looking away when, after several seconds, it didn't make one iota of difference. "Until you barged into the mess I was minding my own business, relaxing even. You're the one that was playing Rambo-or Braveheart in your case-today. Just because you're dead on your feet doesn't mean everyone else is. If you just let me get back to my own way of relaxing," he tugged at his trapped arm again, "everything will be fine."
For a moment, Carson considered defeat. After all, he really didn't want to do this. But another glance at Rodney, and he knew he had to make another attempt. "You were drinking a stimulant, and you just said you were going to work with Hermiod. That doesn't qualify as relaxing. Not to mention you aren't technically cleared yet-I gave a temporary okay to let you participate in Ronon's rescue, I didn't okay you for full, active duty. And right now, I am ordering you, as the Chief Medical Officer, to get some rest. In your room or the infirmary, it's your choice."
Rodney finally managed to wrench his limb from the Marine, and crossed his arms over his chest-careful to not spill the remainder of his coffee-he tilted his chin upward, his expression hardening. "I've been successfully taking care of myself for the past thirty-eight years. I don't need someone to tell me when to go to bed. Isn't it time for you to tuck in Ronon, anyway?" He turned on his heel, already heading toward the elevator at the end of the hall.
Carson decided to try a different tactic. As Rodney walked away, he called Hermiod, letting him know that Rodney was on the way and he was disobeying direct medical orders to go rest. The naked alien agreed to prevent Rodney from working on any of his systems. With a sigh, Carson headed back to the infirmary, guessing that when Rodney was thwarted, he would come looking for someone-him-to vent his wrath on. But then, at least he would be in the infirmary at that point.
***
TBC
Doctor Carson Beckett stared at the patient charts in front of him, the letters and numbers starting to blur before his eyes. When had he last slept? He found he couldn't remember.
He shook his head and rose, moving over to the gurney where Ronon Dex was sleeping. It had been awkward, removing the tracking device in the confines of a moving jumper, the rest of Ronon's teammates hovering around. But the operation had been successful, easier this time since he knew what he was looking for.
They had made a brief pit stop to dump the device back on the planet, and then gotten everyone back to the Daedalus. He had ordered everyone to go get some well-deserved rest, banning them from the infirmary unless they were bleeding or dying, then had whisked his patient away, determined to make sure the man rested while Carson still had some control over him.
He reached out, touching Ronon's wrist, automatically checking his pulse. It was odd, but ever since med school, he had found this to be relaxing. When he knew a patient was out of danger, was resting comfortably-or at least as comfortably as he could get them-he would wait until they were sleeping, then count their heartbeats, reassuring him they were alive.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, counting, before a touch on his shoulder startled him. Dropping his hold on Ronon, he turned to find Anne Matthews, his head nurse, giving him "the look".
He knew that expression, knew what was coming.
"Sir, you need to go get some rest. You won't do anyone any good if we have to admit you as a patient."
Several objections flitted across his mind, but, with a sigh, he decided to give in. He was, admittedly, too tired to argue with her, and when she got in this mood, he knew she would keep at him until she wore him down. "Aye, lass. I'll go grab some dinner, then rest. Call me if anything changes."
Shrugging out of his lab coat, he draped it over a chair and headed out. Maybe they still had turkey sandwiches left in the mess hall. That was one of the few benefits to working on the Daedalus-they only stocked Earth provisions.
Rounding the corner, he grabbed a tray and loaded up-they were out of turkey, but there was some tuna left, which was his second choice. Glancing around for a seat, he spotted Rodney looking at a cup of what he assumed was coffee. Frowning, he made his way over to the man. Why was he drinking stimulants when he should be sleeping?
As he approached, Rodney looked up, a half-hearted sneer crossing his face. "Someone finally kick you out of the infirmary, too?"
With a sigh, Carson dropped his tray on the table and sat down. "Unlike some people, I know when to take a break." He looked pointedly at the cup in the other man's hand.
McKay scowled, eyes dropping to his mug. "I am relaxing."
Carson huffed into his sandwich. "Coffee is not known for its relaxing qualities."
"Yeah, well, maybe where you come from." He shifted, hissing as a flash of pain flew across his face.
Carson's eyes sharpened, looking closely at Rodney. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he hadn't missed the pain. "Lad, if you can't sleep because it hurts, why din'na you come to the infirmary and let me give you something?"
The scientist's scowled deepened. "The last time I asked I was threatened with additionally bodily harm." He paused, eyes firmly fixed on his mug, the liquid swirling around with every movement of his hands. "I'm fine."
Carson felt his eyebrows go up. Of all people to be deterred by a little bit of rough speech, Rodney hadn't been one he would have expected. But then, he could see how tired the chief scientist was, so in a way, it didn't surprise him. Heck, he felt the same way, so worn out it was easier to retreat than argue. He pulled a package of low-grade pain killers he had snagged to take for a headache out of his pocket, and pushed them over the table.
"These will'na kill all the pain, but should take the edge off enough to let you sleep. And no," he decided to head off any paranoia before it could start, "that won't interact with anything else I've given you."
Rodney fingered the packet, the foil crinkling under the light pressure, but didn't pick it up, instead pushing it back across the table. "I'm fine. I'll sleep once we get back to Atlantis. It's only a few more hours now and this," he raised his mug, "is all I need."
Carson scowled, too tired to deal with irritable scientists. He considered his options. "Rodney, you can either take those, forget the coffee, and go to bed, or I'll have one of the marines haul you to the infirmary where I'll have Anne strap you to a gurney to make sure you stay put. Your choice."
Rodney raised an eyebrow, face settling into one of its more stubborn expressions. "I said I'm fine." He rose to his feet, picking up the metal cup from the table. "I have some things to discuss with Hermiod. Thanks again for your most valuable medical advice."
Carson wondered why, exactly, Rodney felt the need to be stubborn. Was it just to irritate him? He managed to catch the eye of the marine near the door, motioning for him to stop Rodney from leaving. Downing the last few bites of sandwich, he abandoned the tray on the table, letting someone else put it away. That was the least of his worries right now.
"I will'na let you pass out on my watch, since I don't think I have any needles big enough to penetrate your thick skull when you knock yourself senseless."
Rodney glared at Carson and the Marine equally, sidestepping around the burly man, getting one foot into the hallway before the marine grabbed his upper arm. "What part of 'I'm fine' do you not understand? Do I have to try saying it with a Scottish accent for you to comprehend that? I'm. Fine."
Carson ignored the ranting, motioning for the grinning Marine to follow. He started down the hall, reaching up to activate his comm. "Anne, luv, I'm bringing a stubborn goat in for you to look after for a bit. Can you prep the isolation area? I want him to get some sleep with no distractions."
Glancing back, he watched as Rodney tried to free his arm, managing instead to slosh the coffee over the edge of the mug he was clutching in his hand, the liquid spilling onto the floor, barely missing his boots. "Would you call off your goon? This wasn't funny when it started and has quickly descended into the depths of absolutely not humorous. I know you must enjoy the power trip, but this is pushing it too far."
Carson turned, his weariness flashing across his face before he could hide it again. "Rodney, I'm your doctor. As much as you like to think you know what's best for you all the time, it's my job to make sure you don't push it too far. We aren't in a crisis at the moment, so there is nae need for you to stay awake. In fact, just the opposite. If a crisis does come up and you can't perform because I din'na get you to sleep, well..." He trailed off, wiping a hand over his face. He dug the packet of ibuprofen out of his pocket that he had grabbed before leaving the table. "Look, just take this and try to get some sleep, and I'll leave you alone."
"What will make you understand that I'm fine, that I don't need you mother-henning me? Do I need to speak slower? Or maybe louder will work." He tried to cross his arms, but the Marine had yet to loosen his grip, which made the gesture nearly impossible. Rodney scowled at the man, looking away when, after several seconds, it didn't make one iota of difference. "Until you barged into the mess I was minding my own business, relaxing even. You're the one that was playing Rambo-or Braveheart in your case-today. Just because you're dead on your feet doesn't mean everyone else is. If you just let me get back to my own way of relaxing," he tugged at his trapped arm again, "everything will be fine."
For a moment, Carson considered defeat. After all, he really didn't want to do this. But another glance at Rodney, and he knew he had to make another attempt. "You were drinking a stimulant, and you just said you were going to work with Hermiod. That doesn't qualify as relaxing. Not to mention you aren't technically cleared yet-I gave a temporary okay to let you participate in Ronon's rescue, I didn't okay you for full, active duty. And right now, I am ordering you, as the Chief Medical Officer, to get some rest. In your room or the infirmary, it's your choice."
Rodney finally managed to wrench his limb from the Marine, and crossed his arms over his chest-careful to not spill the remainder of his coffee-he tilted his chin upward, his expression hardening. "I've been successfully taking care of myself for the past thirty-eight years. I don't need someone to tell me when to go to bed. Isn't it time for you to tuck in Ronon, anyway?" He turned on his heel, already heading toward the elevator at the end of the hall.
Carson decided to try a different tactic. As Rodney walked away, he called Hermiod, letting him know that Rodney was on the way and he was disobeying direct medical orders to go rest. The naked alien agreed to prevent Rodney from working on any of his systems. With a sigh, Carson headed back to the infirmary, guessing that when Rodney was thwarted, he would come looking for someone-him-to vent his wrath on. But then, at least he would be in the infirmary at that point.
***
TBC