Love and Medicine by liketheriver (h/c challenge)

[liketheriverrun]

Title:  Love and Medicine
Author: liketheriver
Genre: Slash, h/c
Characters:  John and Rodney
Rating: T.
Word count: ~ 6,000
Warning: None
Spoilers: anything up through season 5
Author Notes:   How can I not take part in an h/c challenge?
Summary:  So, while questions about love might have been appropriate at another time and place, now, with an arrow threatening to bleed the man dry, it seemed rather odd.



Love and Medicine

by liketheriver

"Have you ever… been in love?"

The question was asked through teeth clinched against pain, but considering that the stranger, Rodney, had a Federation barb lodged deep in his shoulder, Harroll could understand why it was spoken that way. Even if he could recognize the tone, the Sarrian physician found himself taken aback by the question, and it took Harroll a moment to realize Rodney was not addressing him.

Not that Harroll’s love life bore any relevance to the situation at hand. As a physician, Harroll firmly believed that love and medicine should not be mixed. They were two opposite ideals that only caused turmoil if allowed to come together. Medicine required discipline, control, an unemotional detachment so that the proper course of action could be taken without the distraction of sentimentality. So, while questions about love might have been appropriate at another time and place, now, with an arrow threatening to bleed the man dry, it seemed rather odd.

Given the way he furrowed his brow, the injured man’s companion felt the same way.

"In love?"

John Sheppard was how the second man dressed all in black had introduced himself when he had woken Harroll in the middle of the night. There had been a title mentioned, as well, but Harroll had missed it in his drowsy state. In his younger days, Harroll would have been wide awake at the first rap of knuckle to door. His younger days, however, were in the past, and Harroll hadn’t woken completely until he was being dragged through the woods by the man with the title he could not recall…with his own shirttails hanging free of his trousers, no less… to the storage barn by the grist mill where Rodney had been hidden. Shirttails out, no jacket, no sash- Marin would have been appalled to see him present himself this way, even to strangers. But Marin was as much in his past as those days when the need for sleep could be easily vanquished by the presence of a patient on his front step no matter what the hour.

Harroll had only learned Rodney’s name by what John had called him. There had been no need to ask what had happened to the men; it was obvious they had come up against the Federal Guard. The flicker of lanterns through the trees and the sound of armed men in the darkness around them as Sheppard moved Harroll quietly out of town and along the river to the mill was proof the Guard were still searching for them.

Nor did Harroll have to ask how the two strangers had known to come to his house for help. Jance’s dead body in the corner of the barn with a barb in his chest had Harroll shaking his head in regret. Sheppard had taken an oiled tarp from the back of a delivery cart and draped it over the body while Harroll examined Rodney’s shoulder. Harroll had delivered Jance into this world, and unfortunate as it was, the young man was a not the first Harroll had held as a mewling babe and now seen as a cooling corpse. Since the rebellion had begun four years before, the aging physician had treated more than he cared to count and been asked to help more than he cared to recall. Even if Harroll had arrived at the barn sooner, it would not have been soon enough to help the young rebel soldier given the severity of his wounds. Jance, however, had known Harroll was sympathetic to the rebels who showed up on his doorstep and would have sent the stranger to him for medical aid.

Jance may have been beyond help, but the stranger was not. Not yet, anyway.

Rodney closed his eyes and shook his head. "Sorry. Never mind." He waved his arm dismissively.

"You were married; of course you’ve been in love."

The haphazard motion, however, had even more blood flowing and Harroll directing Sheppard, "Still him; I need to prepare the wound to be cauterized to stop the bleeding."

The bandages Harroll had packed around the shaft of the bolt were not enough to stop the bleeding. In fact, the dark stain formed by the blood on the light wood of the work table Rodney lay upon would require sanding to remove the blemish. Not a pleasant thought, but practical. Much more practical than the conversation the strangers were having.

"I’ve also been divorced," John pointed out as he pinned Rodney’s arm with one hand and wrapped the other around Rodney’s wrist, squeezing until the wounded man opened his eyes again.

"Is that an admission that when it comes those sort of decisions your judgment is sorely lacking?" Rodney ground his back teeth at the treatment he was receiving, blinked back the sweat that was running into his eyes. It was a warm night but not nearly warm enough to account for the blossom of perspiration on Rodney’s face.

"Something like that," John mumbled as he gently brushed a thumb across Rodney’s forehead to sweep the beads of sweat off Rodney’s brow.

Rodney closed his eyes again at the touch. "Would you say you suck at it?"

"I’m not sure I’d go that far," Sheppard defended, resuming his hold on Rodney’s arm when he started to gesture once more.

The man seemed incapable of speaking without the use of his arms and hands. Marin had been like that. Harroll had once pondered aloud if she would be struck mute if she were unfortunate enough to break an arm. Marin, however, had not been amused and Harroll had retired to bed that night to find the woman’s board dividing their marriage bed, still days away from Marin’s monthly need for segregation. Many had considered Marin a bit of shrew; she was not shy to let a person know of her displeasure, even her husband. Harroll, however, had found her vibrant and sharp and an exhilarating challenge.

Harroll caught himself smiling at the memory and cleared his throat to cover the inappropriate display of sentimentality. His thoughts of Marin that night must have been a result of his interrupted sleep, he concluded. He had been dreaming of her when he was awakened and had not been able to clear her from his thoughts completely. He had been dreaming of her often in recent days. He was growing foolish in his old age and now it was affecting his professionalism.

Sheppard, however, did not notice. He was too busy gripping a little tighter when Rodney tried to raise his hand again. "Besides, you’re one to talk. I’ve already seen one engagement ring in your hand for Katie and expect to see another one soon for Keller."

Rodney snorted at the suggestion. "Fat chance of that happening. Apparently, I suck, too."

"Hey, you guys are just going through a rough spot," John tried to console. "You’ll work through it."

Harroll knew he should be paying more attention to removing the dart and controlling the bleeding in his patient, but it was impossible to miss the hint of hopefulness in Sheppard’s voice… or maybe it was hopelessness that he was right in his assumptions.

"Katie was sweet… too sweet," Rodney licked his lips then sucked in a harsh breath when Harroll pressed against the wound, then he blinked rapidly, this time in an attempt to hold onto consciousness. "You were right, Sheppard… not my type at all."

The injury itself was not especially severe if Harroll could stop the bleeding, but Rodney had already lost a great deal of blood and that was what had Harroll concerned the most as he turned to check the supplies his bag. In his haste to leave the house combined with not being fully awake at the time, he had not had a chance to double check his medical bag and hoped he had everything he needed.

Sheppard fought to keep his friend alert by continuing to talk. "Well, Jennifer seems like she can hold her own against you."

Rodney snorted weakly. "Yeah, she’s a firecracker. Smart, sexy, funny… although she doesn’t always get my sense of humor…young. Really young."

John’s lips quirked at the way the compliments for the woman turned into a sort of confession from Rodney. "Gee, McKay, maybe you’re the one who can’t hold your own against her. You better start working out, build up some stamina, or she’ll kick you to the curb."

"As if you could do any better," Rodney retorted.

"Hey, never engage the enemy in an attack you can’t win," Sheppard countered.

"Enemy?" Rodney asked in disbelief. "How did your marriage ever fail?"

"Marriage, combat," Sheppard shrugged. "The basic principles still hold true-- don’t start something you can’t finish."

"Finish what you start," Rodney mumbled with another exhalation of breath.

"That is if you’re not too old to deliver the goods." John grinned at the last jab.

"It was just a kiss. Right?" Rodney’s words were slurred, but he studied the way John’s reassuring smile wavered at the question. "A fluke…too much beer…weird night. I mean, you and me…" Rodney sighed and shook his head again. "It was just a kiss."

John swallowed and cleared his throat, all humor gone. "Yeah, just a kiss," he agreed quietly.

Harroll had only just met the two men, but he could easily hear the lie in both of their statements. Rodney’s question earlier hadn’t been directed at Harroll, but the physician had been in love once, desperately so, and he could recognize it when he saw it standing right in front of him. Two men together in that way was rare in the Sarrian culture, but not unheard of. Some took issue with that sort of arrangement, but Harroll found outrage over something as trivial as who a person shares his marriage bed with a waste of time and energy as it was not his bed. Besides, he had taken an oath to treat anyone in need. At this moment, Harroll had more important things to worry about than an unrequited romance between the two as he returned to the table to elbow in for a closer look at Rodney. Testing the dart, Harroll hid his wince of sympathy when Rodney gasped and arched his back in pain.

Sheppard glared daggers and pushed back in beside Rodney. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I have to see if the bolt will come free easily or if I must redirect it out," Harroll defended. "Would you rather do this yourself and let me hold your friend’s hand?"

John looked down, not even realizing that was exactly what he was doing until he had it pointed out to him. Raising his eyes to Harroll’s once more, the physician could see the desperation there.

"I can give him a tonic for the pain, but it will be slow to act," Harroll informed Sheppard quietly. Although at that point, Rodney was barely alert enough to hear them. "And with what I have to do… you must be prepared to hold him still so that I can work."

Without releasing Rodney’s hand, Sheppard dug into his vest with the other one to pull out a vial. "We call it morphine. It’ll cut the pain."

Harroll nodded grimly, hoping for all their sakes that Sheppard was correct in his confidence in the drug. "Then administer the morphine and brace him, because I am ready to begin."

Rodney rolled his head with a disoriented mumble, "John?"

"Hang on, McKay, this will help." John injected the morphine into Rodney’s shoulder before asking hopefully. "Better?"

When Rodney exhaled and the lines of pain eased on his face, Harroll’s eyes widened in surprise. The drug appeared to be more effective than Harroll could have dreamed. "Would it be possible to obtain some of this morphine from your people?"

"Doc, you fix him up and you can have anything you want," Sheppard promised earnestly.

Harroll set to studying the entry wound in Rodney’s shoulder, relieved that the pain killer seemed to be working well enough that Rodney didn’t gasp and flinch away from the touch again.

"The barbs on the bolts used by the Federal Guard are designed for maximum damage if pulled out, but they are so short that it is almost impossible to push them through," Harroll explained, taking the thin hand drill from his pouch.

The morphine had been enough to keep Rodney still for the gentle probing, but when Harroll started applying pressure and twisting the drill bit into the end of the bolt, Rodney cried out and writhed away.

"Hold him still," Harroll ordered. He hunched over the small shaft of the arrow and continued working as soon as Sheppard did as he was bid. "When more and more people came to me victims of the Federals, I developed a tool to help remove the bolts and cauterize the wounds. As the numbers of injured grew, so did my reputation for being able to remove the bolts. Looking back, I believe I knew about the underground rebellion before the rebels themselves realized it had begun, simply by the sheer number of wounded."

John’s jaw flinched as he held Rodney down. "I could skip the history lesson right now, Doc."

Harroll could hear the way Sheppard’s voice threatened to crack even as he raised it be heard over Rodney’s cries, but the physician kept twisting the drill.

"Would you rather devote all your attention to listening to him scream?"

"I’d rather you hurried the fuck up," Sheppard snapped before his voice softened. "Easy, Rodney. He’s almost done."

Harroll straightened and blew into the tip of the bolt to clear it of the tiny metal shavings his drill had produced. Nodding to himself in satisfaction with his work, he moved to where his bag rested on the ground.

Rodney was gulping air in one ragged lungful after another as John tried to calm him. "It’s almost over, Rodney, I swear. Just a little bit longer."

It was doubtful Sheppard knew how much longer it would actually take to finish the removal of the bolt, but Harroll saw no reason to correct him. Instead, he retrieved a metal stick from his bag and wrapped the incendiary tape around the end.

"Hurts," Rodney whimpered, trying to pull away weakly. "Don’t let him… don’t let him…"

John used his hands to trap Rodney’s face so that he could look the frightened man in the eyes. "Rodney, look at me. You’re going to be fine. Got it? I’m going to be with you the entire time. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?"

"Jennifer…"

The smile on John’s face was forced as he promised, "We’ll have you home to Jennifer in no time."

"No." Rodney’s face twisted as he struggled to find the right words between the disorientation of the pain and drugs. "Jennifer… she’s not home…"

"Sure she is, McKay. She’s waiting back in the city."

Rodney reached up with his good hand and gripped Sheppard’s wrist. "She’s not just young… she’s not more." With a frustrated sigh he stammered out, "She’s… she’s not home… she’s not you… she’s never been you."

John stared at the confession, obviously stunned and speechless, and Rodney whispered, "It was more than just a kiss. Wasn’t it? It was more."

Sheppard remained silent, his mouth opening as if to speak but he could find no words for his answer.

Harroll finally cleared his throat. "I need to complete my work."

This was not the first time he had treated a sick or injured person while a loved one watched, and as much as John may try to deny it to himself, the man was in love. But there were times for sentimentality and these critical moments were not them. As a physician he knew that, knew that someone needed to be the unemotional, unattached participant in these events, someone needed to be the voice of reason. Because he had chosen medicine as his life’s profession, that responsibility fell to him.

When John straightened with a flush of color across his face, Harroll directed in his most professional manner, "Help him sit up."

Yes, emotional detachment was important in the practice of medicine. Harroll knew that from personal experience. It was why it had been so difficult for him to be both physician and husband to his wife when she had fallen ill nearly six years before. For her sake, he had chosen to remain the former if he any chance of living out his life as the later with her. In the end, it did neither of them any good.

Sheppard eased Rodney up, letting Rodney lean into his chest and rest his chin on John’s shoulder with a groan. "It’s okay, Rodney, I’m here," John found his voice and murmured low at Rodney’s ear. "I’m here."

Sheppard’s reassurances weren’t enough to drown out Rodney’s moans of pain as Harroll twisted the metal extension into the end of the bolt. But it was enough to have a twinge of jealously flaring in Harroll’s chest that John was able to be there for Rodney in a way Harroll never could for his wife during her illness, and that, if all went well, Rodney would be there for John in a way Harroll’s wife never would be in the future.

"You’ll have to hold him tight," Harroll warned as he struck his fire starter. "And both of you need to close your eyes and look away, the tape sometimes sparks brightly."

That and most people preferred not to watch as a flaming rod was pushed into a person until it came out the other side. But Harroll had discovered this was the best way to cauterize a wound that had been caused by the barbs as he simultaneously removed them.

"Sheppard," Rodney pleaded in dread, fisted a hand into the back of John’s vest desperately, and pressed his face into the crook of John’s neck.

"Right here, Rodney." Sheppard reached up and cupped the back of Rodney’s head and wrapped his other arm around him as tightly as he could while still giving Harroll access to the wound.

Harroll decided it was probably best not to give either man any more warning and lit the tape coated with fire powder. As soon as the tape sputtered into flames, he pushed the bolt the rest of the way through Rodney’s shoulder.

Rodney screamed loudly as Harroll knew he would. They almost always did if they were still conscious, and if they were still conscious when he started, they rarely were by the time he finished. Rodney was no exception.

"Rodney?" John called in worry when Rodney went limp in his arms. "McKay!"

Harroll touched the pulse point on Rodney’s neck. "His heartbeat is strong for a man who has lost so much blood. I find it to be a very reassuring sign. It will take some time, but if we can avoid infection, I believe he will regain his strength."

Sheppard didn’t seem inclined to loosen his hold on Rodney anytime soon. In fact, he seemed to tighten it in an attempt to hide the way he was shaking. Harroll could barely hear John as he whispered against Rodney’s neck. "It was more than just a kiss for me, too. A hell of a lot more."

Stubborn, Harroll thought. Stubborn and scared and a fool if he let those stop him from speaking his mind. Harroll had met Marin later in life. Her family had been culled by the Wraith and she had moved to Sarria to start anew. A refugee with no pedigree to speak of, some would have considered her below his station, not to mention her own age with no previous husbands suggested there must be something amiss with her. At first, Harroll heeded their words, but eventually he could no longer deny that he had been drawn to her since the day they met and he loved her still. Just the thought that he would have listened to those naysayers and shunned Marin sent a shiver through him that he would never have enjoyed the life they had shared.

Here, however, Harroll was the physician, not a busybody rummaging through the romantic lives of others like a refuse collector. Whatever happened between these two men was no business of his.

"If you lay him back, I will check the wound to make sure the bleeding has stopped and bind it."

Almost reluctantly, John gently eased Rodney down onto the table, but stayed close and held tight to the limp hand in his.

Harroll was pleased with what he found; the tape had worked well to seal the wound. He cleaned the bolt’s entry and exit with an astringent and smeared a numbing cream on the skin in preparation for bandaging them. The cream would provide at least some relief from the pain for a short while, typically until the sedative tea could be administered. If the patient was lucky, he would be able to sleep through the worst of the pain.

"Did you realize you were working with the rebellion when you came to this world?" Harroll asked as he placed dressings on both sides of the wound. "Or was it an accident that led the Lanteans to fall into the bad graces of the Federal Guard?"

John seemed ready to deny their homeworld, but with their dress and weaponry, there was no doubt in Harroll’s mind that he had guessed correctly. Sheppard finally confirmed it. "We were contacted by the rebels through a trading partner. They wanted to bargain for supplies in exchange for a power source we need on Atlantis."

"Did you obtain your power source?"

"No," John told him with a shake of his head. "The guards raided the home where we were meeting. We scattered. Half of my team went with two of the rebel soldiers and we went with him." Sheppard hitched his chin toward Jance’s covered body on the far side of the barn, apparently having never learned his name. "When he and Rodney were hit, I ordered the rest of my team back to Atlantis for reinforcements. He led us here and told me how to find you."

"His name was Jance," Harroll informed him. "His grandfather was the miller. I courted his sister when I was little more than a boy. It was a youthful infatuation and years before I met…" Shaking his head at how he had said more than he ever intended, he spread his arms to encompass the building. "Jance played here as a child." Harroll gave a small, humorless laugh at the idea. "That was just a handful of years ago and now look at him. A man should grow old enough to know he has regrets."

"That’s not exactly an encouraging way of putting things into perspective."

Setting to gathering his supplies, Harroll waved of the criticism. "It is a saying here on Sarria. A man should grow old enough to know he has regrets but not so old he can dwell upon them. When you are as old as me, you will understand the wisdom of those words."

"So I take it you’re old enough to understand." Sheppard placed his hand on Rodney’s chest, felt the way his heart beat and his lungs filled with air, as if to ascertain Rodney was really alive.

"I am not only old enough, I have had years to dwell on them." Squatting by his bag with a grimace at the creak in his knees, Harroll told him, "Some would say that is too old."

The truth was, Harroll was one of the oldest people he knew of. When you shared a galaxy with the Wraith, old age was a rarity. In Harroll’s opinion, that was not necessarily the same as a luxury.

"Then I guess I’m older than I thought," John mumbled.

"You are still young enough to create many more regrets," Harroll warned.

"Ah, something to look forward to. Thanks."

Harroll rolled his eyes at the sarcasm. This one was stubborn, prideful, maybe a little brash and reckless, all for the wrong reasons. Not because he truly believed he was the best, but because he was afraid of just the opposite and someone might see that vulnerability. It was like looking at a younger version of himself on the verge of making some of the biggest mistakes of his life. But Sheppard was also of the same age as Harroll when he had met Marin.

Love and medicine should never mix. As a physician Harroll knew that to be the truth. But as a widower, Harroll often wished he had ignored that truth and followed his heart. He had been brave enough to follow his heart when they married. He just wished he had allowed himself to follow his heart when she fell ill. If he had, maybe he would have one less regret to dwell upon. And maybe that was why he said what he did next.

"You should answer his question."

"Question?" Sheppard seemed genuinely confused.

"About being in love. You should not only answer him, but you should tell him the truth."

For a second, John had the look of a trapped animal, but then he shifted awkwardly at having been found out. "Yeah, well, it’s not that easy."

"Was nearly watching him die easy?" John paled visibly at the question. "You do not seem the type of man to take the easy choices in life." Harroll pulled out the roll of bandages and stood once more. "If you were, I doubt we would have ever met."

"Some risks are worth taking. Atlantis needs that power source." Sheppard ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Besides, there are rules I have to live by."

Harroll sighed. "Perhaps you are right. If the rebels lived by the rules, Jance may have been running this mill in a few years instead of lying dead in it." Slipping the bandage under Rodney’s shoulder, Harroll shook his head. "They stand no chance against the Federals. If they had been able to negotiate the support of Atlantis, maybe they would have, but now there is little chance of that happening."

"Listen," John started uncomfortably. "We’re really not supposed to get involved in the politics of other worlds, at least not intentionally--"

Harroll held up a hand to stop him from saying more. "John, I am not seeking anything more from you than some medical supplies to treat anyone who comes to my door, be they young rebel soldiers or strangers from another world."

Looking up from the hand he held in his, John assured, "I meant what I said. I’ll make sure you get all the supplies you need."

"You seem to be a man who stands by his promises," Harroll told him truthfully as he started wrapping the binding around Rodney’s shoulder.

Sheppard deflected the compliment by changing the subject slightly as he helped support Rodney for Harroll to complete his work. "I get the feeling you’re not a card carrying member of the rebellion."

Harroll pursed his lips in concentration. "I have very little interest in politics."

"Then why risk it by helping the rebels?"

"Because I have very little to lose if I am caught." Tying off the bandage, Harroll straightened and stretched his back.

"No kids?" John inquired. "Family?"

"I met my wife later in life; we had no children."

"And what about her?"

Harroll could not be sure if Sheppard was asking to show he could cause as much discomfort as Harroll had with his personal comments a moment before, or out of genuine curiosity. Harroll, however, had initiated the conversation and now felt obligated to continue it.

"Several years ago, when the Wraith began culling more frequently, Sarria fell under attack. Marin, my wife, was in the market that spring day. It was where the Wraith launched their primary assault. That evening, when she returned home, miraculously unharmed, she shared the most extraordinary tale. It seems she was trapped by a Wraith, about to be fed upon, when he stopped and released her for no apparent reason. She was able to flee into the woods and hide until they left. By the waning of the moon, she began to cough up blood. By autumn she was dead. It seems the Wraith knew about the disease that was consuming her before either of us did."

"I’m sorry," John told him solemnly.

"I sometimes think it would have been… easier on her if she had been fed upon by the Wraith."

The disease had been horrifically painful to endure for Marin and devastating for Harroll to watch. As it became more and more obvious that he would not be able to save her, Harroll became more and more determined to try. At least that is what he told himself at the time.

"I’m sure you did everything you could for her."

John’s words held little comfort for Harroll and he confessed quietly, "Not everything."

His statement about living long enough to dwell upon his regrets had been a true one, and Harroll had dwelt upon the time of Marin’s illness for many years. The truth was, he had used medicine as an excuse to hide from his ever-growing pain and stifling fear. By throwing all his effort into trying to find a way to save her, he had left Marin to experience her own pain and fears by herself without the love and comfort she wanted most. His regret came not from being unsuccessful in saving her life as a physician, but not being the husband she deserved in her death.

Now, however, standing in a barn, without a jacket or sash and his shirttails hanging free, and with an injured man to tend, was not the time to dwell on those regrets.

Taking a deep breath, Harroll squared his shoulders. "When do you expect help to arrive from your home?"

"By dawn." John considered then revised, "If not sooner."

"Good. I have heard of the Lantean physicians. They are known for their skill throughout the galaxy."

"Yeah, when we get him back home, Rodney will be in good hands." John looked at the door before suggesting, "Speaking of home, I should probably get you back to yours. The guards are probably still searching for us and if they find you here that’s not going to go over so well for you."

"I am more than capable than walking home on my own." Harroll stopped John before he could argue. "I will leave after he wakes, by myself."

Sheppard was most definitely uncomfortable with Harroll’s plan. "I don’t know, Doc, they guards are still out there."

"Someone must stay with Rodney," Harroll reminded, then concluded resolutely, "If you need my assistance again, you know where I live."

"Thanks," John told him in sincerity. "If you hadn’t been willing to help us…"

Harroll could have simply bowed his head in acquiescence as was customary when receiving this sort of recognition. But Marin was waiting for him at home, waiting for him to return to the dream in which he had left her, and she would never forgive him if he did not try at least once more.

"Do not waste the chance you have been given, John Sheppard. When you are an old man, knowing there were rules will provide little comfort against the regrets of your life."

Sheppard dropped his eyes to his boots and Harroll decided he had done all he could, more than he should have bothered with if he was honest with himself.

"I will leave a packet of herbs to make a tea with a sedative effect. Steep them for five minutes and have him drink it if the pain becomes too severe. And I expect to see those medical supplies before the new moon−"

Harroll was cut off when Rodney murmured as he woke from his faint.

"Rodney, can you hear me?" Sheppard called anxiously at the first sign of movement.

"Wha’ happn’d?" the woozy man mumbled.

Rodney attempted to sit up and John pushed at his chest. "Take it easy, McKay. You don’t want to start your shoulder bleeding again."

"I was shot," Rodney informed him needlessly, but finally gave up on trying to rise.

"Yeah, I know." John couldn’t cover the hoarseness in his voice. "You scared the shit out of me, you son of a bitch."

When John dropped his forehead to rest on Rodney’s chest, Rodney placed his hand heavily on the back of Sheppard’s neck, "Uhm… sorry?"

A shudder passed through John before he was able to speak against Rodney’s shirt. "It’s okay." He finally lifted his head and took a deep breath. "Everything’s going to be okay."

"Sure?" Rodney seemed worried by what was probably an odd reaction from Sheppard.

That changed, however, when John assure, "I’m positive," as he leaned down and kissed him.

Rodney moaned again, only this time is seemed to be out of relief more than pain as he returned the kiss.

Harroll turned away to afford them some privacy and waited until he heard John say, "Actually, I was wrong. Everything’s going to be better than okay."

Harroll looked over his shoulder in time to see John lean in for another kiss to prove his point.

Turning his back on the men once more, he thought that perhaps he should stay and check over Rodney again, but these… newly articulated feelings were taking a great deal of time to properly articulate. Harroll decided that he would just go and leave the men to express themselves, but he risked one last glance over his shoulder in time to see Sheppard straighten.

"Listen, about that whole being in love thing…"

"I’m not," Rodney blurted out, sounding a little intoxicated. "I mean, I’m not in love with Jennifer."

"Yeah, I kind of caught a clue about that," John admitted with a grin.

"What about you?" Rodney asked hopefully.

"I’m not in love with Jennifer, either."

When John’s grin just grew, Rodney tugged on his vest until their lips met again. Harroll concluded that if Rodney was capable of kissing, he was probably doing well enough to survive until help arrived from their home. Shouldering his bag, Harroll slipped out the door into the warmth of the late summer night. There were no lanterns in sight, no shuffle of footsteps moving through the undergrowth, so the Federals must have moved their search to another area. Hopefully, the two men would be safe until Atlantis came to their aid.

It was a beautiful night, the type Marin would have loved, and Harroll would have complained about due to the lack of a breeze. Tonight, however, he breathed in the sweet scent of the white, vining flower that covered many of the trees and hung heavy in the still air. It felt good to know he had probably saved a man tonight, good in a way he had not felt in many years. Maybe that had to do with the fact that he might have saved two men tonight instead of one. The realization made him think that perhaps had been too critical of combining love and medicine in the past.

Harroll took the time to tuck in his shirttails and straighten his collar. Marin would have expected at least that much from him, even in front of strangers, and Harroll had no intentions of disappointing his wife ever again.

The End