SGA Fic - Rude Awakening
Title: Infection Tag: Rude Awakening
Rating: PG for sickness
Characters: Sheppard, McKay
Summary: Sheppard wishes he hadn't woken up. for drufan. Once again, though edited, this has not been beta'd.
Infection Tag: Rude Awakening
The wormhole shut down. Todd was gone. That fact, however, provided only partial comfort. Just because Todd had yet to outright betray them in a way that couldn't be disputed didn't mean it wouldn't one day be on his agenda. John imagined that he would eventually end up shooting Todd, but that day wouldn't come until there was probable cause. John only killed when he had to and Todd had yet to give him solid, unquestionable provocation.
Even if the bastard brought trouble every time he showed up on their doorstep. Except the only fault with that logic was that it could pretty much be said about the expedition as a whole.
Plus the said future back-stabber always ended up as nothing but useful every time he brought that trouble, and they always ended up owing each other. So much for all bets being off.
John sighed. He was so damn sick of Wraith, Wraith allies included. He was also too tired, achy and disgruntled to contemplate these matters. He walked away from the 'gate in the general direction of habitation with the intent of popping a few pain pills and catching up on some rest. The crash had tossed them around like clothes in a dryer, giving McKay a broken wrist and sprained ankle, Teyla a concussion and bruised chest, Ronon a dislocated shoulder, Lorne a worse concussion than Teyla and Sheppard two cracked ribs. He was also certain he'd swallowed some water. They were all banged-up, severely bruised, and the place where that Wraith had clawed him itched beneath the bandage.
But he supposed it beat being damaged beyond repair.
On reaching his room, John dropped into his computer chair and removed his boots, then outer shirt. He thought about getting into sweats but this wasn't bed time, just a nap, and it was better to be partially ready should duty suddenly decide to call again. He set the shirt on the chair and took the boots with him as he shuffled to the bed, dropping them when he reached it.
John curled up beneath the blanket and promptly passed out.
Then he woke up and wished that he hadn't, because his head was about to explode and hell bent on taking his stomach with it. He groaned, curling tighter under the blanket that wasn't doing squat against the onslaught of cold.
John wasn't naïve. He knew what this was and groaned louder with the realization. Every muscle pulled until he was shivering and his flank burned with every rattling breath. This virus or infection (and wouldn't it be his current luck that it would be both) had moved fast; either that or he'd slept longer than intended. His chest felt like he'd inhaled water and it was only now letting him in on the fact. A too deep breath made him cough...
And, crap, did it hurt - a multiple assault on all sides, making his head explode for real, his ribs stab and every bruise thump and throb. He saw sparks and it only made things worse until he was bolting from the bed to the bathroom, stumbling along the way and adding bruises to his palms and knees. He made it by a hair's breath, dribbling a little bile onto the floor before finally reaching the toilet.
Puking ended up being worse than coughing. Instead of sparks, dark motes gathered in his vision, blocking everything out until there was nothing.
When they cleared, he was curled up on the floor in a trembling heap.
He'd friggin' passed out.
“Love-ly,” he rasped, wincing at the strained, almost pinched pitch of his voice, like it was one more scream away from laryngitis.
But the real icing on the cake was his inability to move, and not just because it hurt. It seemed every limb had decided to call it quits, refusing to move until they were ready. And they weren't ready.
“Damn it,” John wheezed. He forced them to move anyway, getting his hands beneath him and pushing. They trembled with the silent threat of dropping if he kept this up. Not wanting to add more bruises or a broken nose to the mess, John complied and carefully lowered himself back to the floor.
“Traitors.” He had no choice but to call for help, but when he managed to get his hand to his ear, he encountered only skin. He dropped his hand, not caring if that particular appendage bruised, and sighed. “Of course.”
Now he was worried, because he couldn't recall an illness ever settling in this fast. Cold was already giving way to hot, which cranked up his headache from a pressurized throb to a pick-ax grinding into his skull. He was hit by another need to puke and, suddenly, his limbs were cooperating, hauling him over the toilet just to dry heave. Then he was back on the floor, panting from exertion and pain.
Something was very, very wrong beyond the obvious. He needed to get to the infirmary and he needed to get there, now.
“Sheppard?”
Sheppard snapped his head up at the voice of his salvation.
“Hey, Sheppard, I need... where the hell are you?” The voice of Rodney McKay. “Are you in the bathroom? Oh, hell, are you going with the door open? Seriously, Sheppard have a little decency you never know who might barge...”
Sheppard looked up at McKay now standing in the doorway, staring down wearing a dumb, slack-jawed look on his face, leaning most of his weight on the single crutch tucked under his arm.
John closed his eyes with a weary exhale. He'd completely forgotten about the crutch.
“Oh, crap,” Rodney gasped. When his hand went to his ear encountering only that ear and not the comm that should have been attached, his eyes bulged. “Oh, crap! I can't find my comm. Why isn't my comm on my ear? I always have it on, it's the one damn thing I never forget.”
“Rodney.”
“Okay, okay, I just need to retrace my steps - “
“Rodney...”
“I had it on in the lab, then went to dinner...”
“Rodney...”
Rodney released his grip on the crutch long enough to snap his finger. “That's right, I took it off because that moron Sanders kept asking me stupid questions every ten minutes -”
“Rodney!”
“What!” Rodney flinched. “Oh, um... yeah. Just... just wait here and I'll go hunt someone down with a comm and call in a med team. Okay?”
John rolled his eyes - bad idea - and spent several seconds gasping through the sensation of his skull splitting. “No, Rodney... just help me up. I can make it,” at least he hoped he could make it, “I just need help getting up.”
Rodney balked. “Don't look at me. Crippled man, here and I prefer staying upright.” But as he said this he was already limping into the room, bending as far as the crutch would allow while balancing on his working foot. “Here, just... just make sure to grab above the wrist, all right?”
“I'm sick, McKay, not stupid.” John got his hand up far enough to grip Rodney's bicep and pull. Standing proved less difficult with something to cling to, holding on with both hands as he rode out the world tilting and his legs remembering how to work.
“Whoa, whoa! Sheppard. Sheppard!” Rodney shrilled, adding sparks to the tilt-o-whirl. When John attempted to step away, his leg buckled and together he and McKay stumbled into the wall - Rodney the wall with a indignant squawk and Sheppard into the sink, adding a bruise to his hip.
“Jeez, Sheppard! What the hell?”
“Sorry,” John rasped, shifting his death-grip to the sink. It took a moment, but when his legs no longer threatened to give, he pushed away toward the wall, keeping one hand against it as he shuffled to the door. “Sorry.”
Rodney shuffled and clacked out of the way enough for Sheppard to squeeze through. “Fine, whatever. And what do you mean get to the infirmary yourself? You can barely get out of the bathroom. There's no way you're making it to the infirmary. And what the hell is wrong with you?” He shook his head, keeping so close to Sheppard that John could feel the other man's body heat. Apparently the cold flashes were coming back.
“You know what? Never mind,” Rodney said. “How about you waste your energy on getting back to the bed, sit down and wait while I go get a medical team.”
A novel idea, but Sheppard was closer to the door than the bed, and now that he was moving he didn't feel quite as bad. Which, really, was an overstatement. He felt like warmed-over crap, his skull like a drum being beat to the rhythm of his heart and his stomach like he'd swallowed a boot. But the weakness from moments ago wasn't such an overwhelming presence. He chalked it up to circulation slowed by a cool floor.
If it could be done, he would make it to the infirmary on his own steam. Not because of pride - okay, not entirely out of pride. It wasn't that long ago a Wraith cruiser full of mutant Wraith had crash landed on the same planet as Atlantis. Even less time had passed - or so John assumed - that one of those Wraith had been brought on base just to be released. People were going to be shaken up, so the last thing they needed was to see the military commander - the man who'd let that Wraith go - being wheeled to the infirmary with an oxygen mask strapped on his face.
He knew what he was doing, even if McKay didn't agree.
“This isn't smart, Sheppard. Sure you didn't suffer a concussion, too? Because you're certainly acting like it.”
John made it outside of his room, making a sharp turn to keep his shoulder braced against the wall.
“You don't have to do this, Sheppard,” McKay said, clacking alongside only centimeters away.
“I'm not trying to prove anything if that's what you think,” John rasped. Crap, he sounded terrible. To prove his point, he lifted his shoulder away from the wall but kept his hand brushing along its perfect, iridescent surface. “I just ended up on the floor longer than I realized and needed to get the blood flowing.”
“Uh-huh. And why, exactly, were were sprawled on the floor like a man who'd passed out? Huh?”
John shrugged, wincing for it, and wished someone would turn down the city's lights before they gouged his brain out. “Puking and cracked ribs don't mix.”
“That's never floored you before.”
“Diminished lung capacity didn't help. Trust me, Rodney, I'm okay to -” John tripped over his feet, catching himself on a stumble. Rodney braced him with his casted arm against his chest until proper balance was restored.
“Okay to what?” Rodney challenged.
John held up a warning finger. “That was me being a klutz. I'm good Rodney. Good enough to walk on my own at any rate.”
“Yeah, well, since there's no doubt Keller's going to be pissed about this, you're taking the heat. I told you to wait until I found a comm.”
“Like the one on my night stand?”
Rodney glared at him. “I'd trip you if I knew I didn't have to help you get back up again.”
Which had John glaring back. “Hey, it's not like I didn't tell you on purpose. Let's see how sharp your memory is when your brain feels like it's cooking.”
They took a transporter, the flash of light an ice-cold blade stabbing John through the eye into his skull. He ended up on the next level doubled-over and pressing the heel of his hands into his searing eyeballs with a strained, “Son of a bitch!” He lurched forward, but a casted arm stopped him.
“Whoa, easy, John. Take it easy. Just give it a moment.” It was said with a lot more compassion than Rodney had been expressing thus far. When the pain abated enough to be remotely tolerable and John pulled his hands away from his eyes, Rodney asked, “You all right, now?”
John nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm good.”
“As you're going to get, right?”
“Pretty much.”
They continued on, John keeping close to the wall and Rodney keeping close to him, until they finally reached the infirmary.
Keller wasn't happy on seeing John, neither was she angry. It was nothing but concern with just a touch of controlled panic as she and her right hand nurse Marie took over for Rodney, guiding Sheppard straight to the scanning bed. While Keller scanned Marie took John's blood pressure, then blood. After the scan, Keller had John sit up so she could listen to his heart and lungs. He nearly tipped off the bed.
“Okay, we're going to need everyone who was on that ship back in here,” Keller said, sliding the stethoscope from one side of his back to the other. “”Just to make sure.”
Rodney shot another scathing glance John's way. “Gee, thanks.”
“Yeah, Rodney, that's exactly why I got sick. To ruin your day.”
“Whatever,” Rodney said, hobbling to the nearest bed. It took the help of a nurse to slide his butt onto the edge.
When Keller had poked and prodded as much as she could at the extreme moment, she guided John to the neighboring bed where an I.V. was ready and waiting. This time, with him being coherent enough to make it to the infirmary on his own, he was able to dress in scrubs in private. He was just slipping into the shirt when he heard Rodney speak.
“So... will he live? I mean, he's going to okay, right?”
“Well, I'm still waiting on the blood work but the scans didn't show anything serious. That plus the quarantine not going off are reasons to stay positive. Unless -”
“I fixed the quarantine, it works, so relax.”
Keller's shadow rippled outside the curtain. “Good. John, you decent?”
“Yep.”
“Also good.” She opened the curtain. “I've got some antibiotics, pain medication and fluids with your name on it. So hop into bed, get comfortable and I'll get you set up.”
John did as told and was happy to do so, anxious especially for the pain medication. He didn't even mind the nasal cannula situated under his nose.
The medication was mild, enough to make him drowsy but not knock him out seeing as how it really wasn't that long ago he'd taken the medication for his injuries. Keller also wanted to keep things light until she knew what they were going up against.
It didn't take long, not with Ancient equipment to do the analyzing. The rest of John's team plus Lorne were just entering the infirmary when the results came back.
“Pegasus Galaxy flu,” Keller said. “And I'm thinking between being scratched by a sick Wraith and inhaling water, you became more susceptible to it. It's really no different from our earth flu -”
John sighed. “Except faster.”
“Well, fast because the scratch that Wraith gave you is a little infected.” She winced. “Looks like I didn't clean it in time. But don't worry, it's not fatal. You'll be miserable for a few days but back on your feet in no time.”
“Great.”
“In the mean time, it's rest and fluids for you. If it doesn't show signs of increasing in strength, you could end up spending most of those couple of days in your own room.”
Now that John did like the sound of.
After a few assurances and wishes for John to get well, Keller had the others ushered to the other side of the infirmary so Sheppard could have a little peace and quiet. McKay she released, but with instructions to come back if he started puking.
“What about coughing, or sneezing?” Rodney asked, looking appalled, and a little affronted.
Keller gave him a hooded look. “Rodney, you're in here every ten minutes because of coughing or sneezing. Puking only, sorry.”
Rodney huffed. “Wonderful. Well, if you don't see me in the next ten minutes it's because I'm lying on the floor passed out from excessive vomiting.” He started for the door until he reached John's bed, then stopped and turned. “So, you missed dinner. At least I assume you did since you weren't there and I found you on the floor and all. Are you hungry? I could have someone bring soup or something? I'd bring it but...” he held up his casted wrist.
John shook his head. “I'm good.”
“As you're going to get?”
“As I'm going to get. But thanks for the offer.”
Rodney bobbed his head. “No problem.” He started off again.
“Hey, Rodney.”
Only to turn back around. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for making sure I didn't fall on my face.”
“Well,” Rodney shrugged, “like I said, I didn't want to have to pick you up again. Now go to sleep already.”
John gave him a thumbs up, then gladly passed out.
The End
Rating: PG for sickness
Characters: Sheppard, McKay
Summary: Sheppard wishes he hadn't woken up. for drufan. Once again, though edited, this has not been beta'd.
Infection Tag: Rude Awakening
The wormhole shut down. Todd was gone. That fact, however, provided only partial comfort. Just because Todd had yet to outright betray them in a way that couldn't be disputed didn't mean it wouldn't one day be on his agenda. John imagined that he would eventually end up shooting Todd, but that day wouldn't come until there was probable cause. John only killed when he had to and Todd had yet to give him solid, unquestionable provocation.
Even if the bastard brought trouble every time he showed up on their doorstep. Except the only fault with that logic was that it could pretty much be said about the expedition as a whole.
Plus the said future back-stabber always ended up as nothing but useful every time he brought that trouble, and they always ended up owing each other. So much for all bets being off.
John sighed. He was so damn sick of Wraith, Wraith allies included. He was also too tired, achy and disgruntled to contemplate these matters. He walked away from the 'gate in the general direction of habitation with the intent of popping a few pain pills and catching up on some rest. The crash had tossed them around like clothes in a dryer, giving McKay a broken wrist and sprained ankle, Teyla a concussion and bruised chest, Ronon a dislocated shoulder, Lorne a worse concussion than Teyla and Sheppard two cracked ribs. He was also certain he'd swallowed some water. They were all banged-up, severely bruised, and the place where that Wraith had clawed him itched beneath the bandage.
But he supposed it beat being damaged beyond repair.
On reaching his room, John dropped into his computer chair and removed his boots, then outer shirt. He thought about getting into sweats but this wasn't bed time, just a nap, and it was better to be partially ready should duty suddenly decide to call again. He set the shirt on the chair and took the boots with him as he shuffled to the bed, dropping them when he reached it.
John curled up beneath the blanket and promptly passed out.
Then he woke up and wished that he hadn't, because his head was about to explode and hell bent on taking his stomach with it. He groaned, curling tighter under the blanket that wasn't doing squat against the onslaught of cold.
John wasn't naïve. He knew what this was and groaned louder with the realization. Every muscle pulled until he was shivering and his flank burned with every rattling breath. This virus or infection (and wouldn't it be his current luck that it would be both) had moved fast; either that or he'd slept longer than intended. His chest felt like he'd inhaled water and it was only now letting him in on the fact. A too deep breath made him cough...
And, crap, did it hurt - a multiple assault on all sides, making his head explode for real, his ribs stab and every bruise thump and throb. He saw sparks and it only made things worse until he was bolting from the bed to the bathroom, stumbling along the way and adding bruises to his palms and knees. He made it by a hair's breath, dribbling a little bile onto the floor before finally reaching the toilet.
Puking ended up being worse than coughing. Instead of sparks, dark motes gathered in his vision, blocking everything out until there was nothing.
When they cleared, he was curled up on the floor in a trembling heap.
He'd friggin' passed out.
“Love-ly,” he rasped, wincing at the strained, almost pinched pitch of his voice, like it was one more scream away from laryngitis.
But the real icing on the cake was his inability to move, and not just because it hurt. It seemed every limb had decided to call it quits, refusing to move until they were ready. And they weren't ready.
“Damn it,” John wheezed. He forced them to move anyway, getting his hands beneath him and pushing. They trembled with the silent threat of dropping if he kept this up. Not wanting to add more bruises or a broken nose to the mess, John complied and carefully lowered himself back to the floor.
“Traitors.” He had no choice but to call for help, but when he managed to get his hand to his ear, he encountered only skin. He dropped his hand, not caring if that particular appendage bruised, and sighed. “Of course.”
Now he was worried, because he couldn't recall an illness ever settling in this fast. Cold was already giving way to hot, which cranked up his headache from a pressurized throb to a pick-ax grinding into his skull. He was hit by another need to puke and, suddenly, his limbs were cooperating, hauling him over the toilet just to dry heave. Then he was back on the floor, panting from exertion and pain.
Something was very, very wrong beyond the obvious. He needed to get to the infirmary and he needed to get there, now.
“Sheppard?”
Sheppard snapped his head up at the voice of his salvation.
“Hey, Sheppard, I need... where the hell are you?” The voice of Rodney McKay. “Are you in the bathroom? Oh, hell, are you going with the door open? Seriously, Sheppard have a little decency you never know who might barge...”
Sheppard looked up at McKay now standing in the doorway, staring down wearing a dumb, slack-jawed look on his face, leaning most of his weight on the single crutch tucked under his arm.
John closed his eyes with a weary exhale. He'd completely forgotten about the crutch.
“Oh, crap,” Rodney gasped. When his hand went to his ear encountering only that ear and not the comm that should have been attached, his eyes bulged. “Oh, crap! I can't find my comm. Why isn't my comm on my ear? I always have it on, it's the one damn thing I never forget.”
“Rodney.”
“Okay, okay, I just need to retrace my steps - “
“Rodney...”
“I had it on in the lab, then went to dinner...”
“Rodney...”
Rodney released his grip on the crutch long enough to snap his finger. “That's right, I took it off because that moron Sanders kept asking me stupid questions every ten minutes -”
“Rodney!”
“What!” Rodney flinched. “Oh, um... yeah. Just... just wait here and I'll go hunt someone down with a comm and call in a med team. Okay?”
John rolled his eyes - bad idea - and spent several seconds gasping through the sensation of his skull splitting. “No, Rodney... just help me up. I can make it,” at least he hoped he could make it, “I just need help getting up.”
Rodney balked. “Don't look at me. Crippled man, here and I prefer staying upright.” But as he said this he was already limping into the room, bending as far as the crutch would allow while balancing on his working foot. “Here, just... just make sure to grab above the wrist, all right?”
“I'm sick, McKay, not stupid.” John got his hand up far enough to grip Rodney's bicep and pull. Standing proved less difficult with something to cling to, holding on with both hands as he rode out the world tilting and his legs remembering how to work.
“Whoa, whoa! Sheppard. Sheppard!” Rodney shrilled, adding sparks to the tilt-o-whirl. When John attempted to step away, his leg buckled and together he and McKay stumbled into the wall - Rodney the wall with a indignant squawk and Sheppard into the sink, adding a bruise to his hip.
“Jeez, Sheppard! What the hell?”
“Sorry,” John rasped, shifting his death-grip to the sink. It took a moment, but when his legs no longer threatened to give, he pushed away toward the wall, keeping one hand against it as he shuffled to the door. “Sorry.”
Rodney shuffled and clacked out of the way enough for Sheppard to squeeze through. “Fine, whatever. And what do you mean get to the infirmary yourself? You can barely get out of the bathroom. There's no way you're making it to the infirmary. And what the hell is wrong with you?” He shook his head, keeping so close to Sheppard that John could feel the other man's body heat. Apparently the cold flashes were coming back.
“You know what? Never mind,” Rodney said. “How about you waste your energy on getting back to the bed, sit down and wait while I go get a medical team.”
A novel idea, but Sheppard was closer to the door than the bed, and now that he was moving he didn't feel quite as bad. Which, really, was an overstatement. He felt like warmed-over crap, his skull like a drum being beat to the rhythm of his heart and his stomach like he'd swallowed a boot. But the weakness from moments ago wasn't such an overwhelming presence. He chalked it up to circulation slowed by a cool floor.
If it could be done, he would make it to the infirmary on his own steam. Not because of pride - okay, not entirely out of pride. It wasn't that long ago a Wraith cruiser full of mutant Wraith had crash landed on the same planet as Atlantis. Even less time had passed - or so John assumed - that one of those Wraith had been brought on base just to be released. People were going to be shaken up, so the last thing they needed was to see the military commander - the man who'd let that Wraith go - being wheeled to the infirmary with an oxygen mask strapped on his face.
He knew what he was doing, even if McKay didn't agree.
“This isn't smart, Sheppard. Sure you didn't suffer a concussion, too? Because you're certainly acting like it.”
John made it outside of his room, making a sharp turn to keep his shoulder braced against the wall.
“You don't have to do this, Sheppard,” McKay said, clacking alongside only centimeters away.
“I'm not trying to prove anything if that's what you think,” John rasped. Crap, he sounded terrible. To prove his point, he lifted his shoulder away from the wall but kept his hand brushing along its perfect, iridescent surface. “I just ended up on the floor longer than I realized and needed to get the blood flowing.”
“Uh-huh. And why, exactly, were were sprawled on the floor like a man who'd passed out? Huh?”
John shrugged, wincing for it, and wished someone would turn down the city's lights before they gouged his brain out. “Puking and cracked ribs don't mix.”
“That's never floored you before.”
“Diminished lung capacity didn't help. Trust me, Rodney, I'm okay to -” John tripped over his feet, catching himself on a stumble. Rodney braced him with his casted arm against his chest until proper balance was restored.
“Okay to what?” Rodney challenged.
John held up a warning finger. “That was me being a klutz. I'm good Rodney. Good enough to walk on my own at any rate.”
“Yeah, well, since there's no doubt Keller's going to be pissed about this, you're taking the heat. I told you to wait until I found a comm.”
“Like the one on my night stand?”
Rodney glared at him. “I'd trip you if I knew I didn't have to help you get back up again.”
Which had John glaring back. “Hey, it's not like I didn't tell you on purpose. Let's see how sharp your memory is when your brain feels like it's cooking.”
They took a transporter, the flash of light an ice-cold blade stabbing John through the eye into his skull. He ended up on the next level doubled-over and pressing the heel of his hands into his searing eyeballs with a strained, “Son of a bitch!” He lurched forward, but a casted arm stopped him.
“Whoa, easy, John. Take it easy. Just give it a moment.” It was said with a lot more compassion than Rodney had been expressing thus far. When the pain abated enough to be remotely tolerable and John pulled his hands away from his eyes, Rodney asked, “You all right, now?”
John nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm good.”
“As you're going to get, right?”
“Pretty much.”
They continued on, John keeping close to the wall and Rodney keeping close to him, until they finally reached the infirmary.
Keller wasn't happy on seeing John, neither was she angry. It was nothing but concern with just a touch of controlled panic as she and her right hand nurse Marie took over for Rodney, guiding Sheppard straight to the scanning bed. While Keller scanned Marie took John's blood pressure, then blood. After the scan, Keller had John sit up so she could listen to his heart and lungs. He nearly tipped off the bed.
“Okay, we're going to need everyone who was on that ship back in here,” Keller said, sliding the stethoscope from one side of his back to the other. “”Just to make sure.”
Rodney shot another scathing glance John's way. “Gee, thanks.”
“Yeah, Rodney, that's exactly why I got sick. To ruin your day.”
“Whatever,” Rodney said, hobbling to the nearest bed. It took the help of a nurse to slide his butt onto the edge.
When Keller had poked and prodded as much as she could at the extreme moment, she guided John to the neighboring bed where an I.V. was ready and waiting. This time, with him being coherent enough to make it to the infirmary on his own, he was able to dress in scrubs in private. He was just slipping into the shirt when he heard Rodney speak.
“So... will he live? I mean, he's going to okay, right?”
“Well, I'm still waiting on the blood work but the scans didn't show anything serious. That plus the quarantine not going off are reasons to stay positive. Unless -”
“I fixed the quarantine, it works, so relax.”
Keller's shadow rippled outside the curtain. “Good. John, you decent?”
“Yep.”
“Also good.” She opened the curtain. “I've got some antibiotics, pain medication and fluids with your name on it. So hop into bed, get comfortable and I'll get you set up.”
John did as told and was happy to do so, anxious especially for the pain medication. He didn't even mind the nasal cannula situated under his nose.
The medication was mild, enough to make him drowsy but not knock him out seeing as how it really wasn't that long ago he'd taken the medication for his injuries. Keller also wanted to keep things light until she knew what they were going up against.
It didn't take long, not with Ancient equipment to do the analyzing. The rest of John's team plus Lorne were just entering the infirmary when the results came back.
“Pegasus Galaxy flu,” Keller said. “And I'm thinking between being scratched by a sick Wraith and inhaling water, you became more susceptible to it. It's really no different from our earth flu -”
John sighed. “Except faster.”
“Well, fast because the scratch that Wraith gave you is a little infected.” She winced. “Looks like I didn't clean it in time. But don't worry, it's not fatal. You'll be miserable for a few days but back on your feet in no time.”
“Great.”
“In the mean time, it's rest and fluids for you. If it doesn't show signs of increasing in strength, you could end up spending most of those couple of days in your own room.”
Now that John did like the sound of.
After a few assurances and wishes for John to get well, Keller had the others ushered to the other side of the infirmary so Sheppard could have a little peace and quiet. McKay she released, but with instructions to come back if he started puking.
“What about coughing, or sneezing?” Rodney asked, looking appalled, and a little affronted.
Keller gave him a hooded look. “Rodney, you're in here every ten minutes because of coughing or sneezing. Puking only, sorry.”
Rodney huffed. “Wonderful. Well, if you don't see me in the next ten minutes it's because I'm lying on the floor passed out from excessive vomiting.” He started for the door until he reached John's bed, then stopped and turned. “So, you missed dinner. At least I assume you did since you weren't there and I found you on the floor and all. Are you hungry? I could have someone bring soup or something? I'd bring it but...” he held up his casted wrist.
John shook his head. “I'm good.”
“As you're going to get?”
“As I'm going to get. But thanks for the offer.”
Rodney bobbed his head. “No problem.” He started off again.
“Hey, Rodney.”
Only to turn back around. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for making sure I didn't fall on my face.”
“Well,” Rodney shrugged, “like I said, I didn't want to have to pick you up again. Now go to sleep already.”
John gave him a thumbs up, then gladly passed out.
The End