Fic: The Things They Forgot to Carry (2/2)

[radioshack84]

Title: The Things They Forgot to Carry
Author: radioshack84
Rating: T
Category: Gen, H/C
Characters: John, Rodney, Carson, Ford, Teyla, Kavanagh

Word Count: 9,852

Spoilers: None really, but takes place after Rising, Part 2 and before 38 Minutes.
Summary: When leaving Earth for Atlantis, some people forgot things. Sheppard offers to lend a hand to one such person in need, but ends up in over his head when Kavanagh gets involved. Mild Shep whump.

Sorry about the weird font size in the first part.  LJ isn't liking me tonight.


John trudged into the infirmary behind Kavanagh, looking for someplace to ditch the scientist’s equipment so he could ditch the scientist himself, but as bad luck would have it every table, chair, and shelf were already occupied. Sighing, he followed Kavanagh further, and finally located a relatively out-of-the-way spot on the floor. Setting down the equipment case, Sheppard stood and quickly grabbed for the wall when the room started spinning.

“Major?”

Sheppard looked up slowly, and tried not to cringe. Beckett was headed his way looking concerned, obviously having entered at the exact wrong moment and seen him wobble. John put on his most nonchalant expression and smiled. “Hey, Doc.” He held up the case that was still in his hand. “I found Rodney’s power supplies.”

“No thanks to me.” Kavanagh piped in, but he still sounded overly pleased with himself despite the complaint.

“Yeah, about that. Your equipment’s over there,” Sheppard said, gesturing to the corner he’d stashed it in, “and I’ve got to take these to McKay now, so I’ll be going. It was a pleasure doing business with you.” He turned to go before Kavanagh could object.

Unfortunately, Beckett beat him to it. “Hold on a moment, Major.”

John stopped and carefully turned to face Beckett, feigning a questioning look.

“What happened?” Carson asked, pointing to Sheppard’s wrist. Red-spotted gauze was just visible where his jacket sleeve had crawled up. Crap.

“It’s just a scratch, Doc. A damned bungee bit me when I was getting the case.”

“That’s quite a bit of blood for a scratch, Major.” Stepping closer, Carson carefully pushed John’s sleeve up a little further and unwrapped the gauze, revealing a ragged cut that was still bleeding a little. “Why don’t ya have a seat? At the very least that needs ta be cleaned properly.”

To John’s right, Kavanagh cleared his throat and glared when the major looked over. For the first time that day, Sheppard found the scientist’s self-importance tolerable. “Actually, Doc, you might want to give Kavanagh your attention first. He’s on the verge of dying from excitement over there.”

“Well aren’t you just a laugh riot, Major.” Kavanagh rolled his eyes at the pun, but his attention immediately fixed on Beckett. “I did make some rather exciting discoveries in those labs I found down on the southwest pier though.”

“No thanks to me.” Sheppard couldn’t resist.

“What kind of discoveries? And isn’t that pier off-limits because of the flooding?” Beckett asked, towing John with him across the room to a gurney. If he noticed that John sat down just a little too hard, he didn’t say so.

“Dr. Weir gave us permission to take a jumper out there. I just found a few odds and ends that will keep me busy in the lab for the rest of the week, but there was a data storage device that had all kinds of information. Most of it has to do with genetics, though, and I need you to take a look at it.”

“What area of genetics?” Beckett asked as he swabbed the major’s wrist with disinfectant.

“That’s what you’re here for.” Kavanagh shoved a tablet in Beckett’s face.

Taking a deep breath, Carson released it with a sigh. It wasn’t nearly as calming as he’d hoped. He placed a piece of gauze over Sheppard’s wrist. “Keep pressure on that, lad. I’ll be back in a minute.”

John did as he was told, and watched as Beckett steered Kavanagh a few paces away. The doc was obviously not happy about being interrupted, and appeared to be telling the scientist just that even as he looked at whatever was on the tablet. Beckett’s face grew curious, and Kavanagh’s eager, but just as suddenly the scientist glared and yanked the tablet out of Carson’s hands.

“This is my discovery! You’re not taking credit for it!” Kavanagh shouted on his way to the door. It was loud enough that John was sure everyone up in the control room had heard him.

“Do I even want to know what that was about?” Sheppard asked when Beckett returned.

“Anyone who says that Rodney is inconsiderate and self-centered has never met that man. His data happened ta be some genetic profiles that are very close ta matching the baseline comparisons for the research I’m missing. All I did was mention that I’d appreciate a copy.”

Sheppard shook his head, and instantly regretted the action. Digging his fingers into the gurney, he hoped that he didn’t list along with everything else. Even Beckett seemed to be drifting from side to side as he covered the cut with butterfly bandages and a new dressing, so John wasn’t really surprised when his stomach began to churn. He swallowed, trying to calm the acid, and noticed that Beckett had finished with his wrist, but was giving him a visual once-over. Uh oh.

John slid off the gurney, intending to make a break for it, but the fact that he continued to squeeze the stuffing out of the mattress once his feet were on the floor wasn’t fooling anyone, especially not Carson.  Still, not being one to give in so easily, Sheppard forced himself to straighten his posture. The world had settled-mostly-even if his stomach hadn’t. “Well, I’ve got to get these power supplies to Rodney.” John put on a reassuring smile, “I’m-”

“Don’t even try ta tell me you’re fine, Major. You’re white as a sheet and you’ve been on the verge of falling over since ya came in here. What’s going on?”

“All right, I’m not fine,” John admitted, “but if you’ll ignore that for the time being, I’ll get you a copy of those genetic profiles.”

Carson had to admit that it was a tempting offer, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge exactly how ‘not fine’ the major was. John was standing straighter and seemed a little less likely to keel over than he had a few moments before, but he still looked weary and ill. Beckett sighed. “All right, I’ll let ya go, for now. As soon as ya have those profiles, I want ya ta come back so I can check ya over, though. Is that clear?”

“Sure thing, Doc.” John smiled and picked up the hard-won case of power supplies, then made a quick exit before Beckett could change his mind.

Rounding the corner outside the infirmary, Sheppard slowed his pace considerably. Vertigo was still his companion and it didn’t like him to walk fast. Neither did the balloon inflating between his ears. He’d definitely be returning to see the good doc at his earliest convenience, but not until he delivered on a couple of promises.

A short-and nauseating-transporter ride later, and John was standing in McKay’s lab. When he’d called the scientist’s name three times without receiving a response, he resorted to plunking the case down on a lab bench. Certain that the sound had been louder than the dull thud he was currently capable of hearing, he waited. Sure enough, Rodney glanced up, annoyance clear on his face until he noticed the identity of his visitor, then annoyance turned to something almost resembling concern.

“What the hell happened to you, Major? You look like crap.”

“Nice to see you too, Rodney.”

“Hey, I’m only stating the truth.”

“I’d just think you’d show a little more gratitude to the person who has put up with Dr. Kavanagh all morning to get you your power supplies.”

“Really?” McKay’s face lit up. “I didn’t think you’d actually find them. And I knew it was Kavanagh! Just wait until I have the time to redecorate his office…”

“It wasn’t him, McKay. He said one of the marine biologists did it. Supposedly that much is common knowledge.”

Rodney snorted. “Likely story…did he say which of the biologists?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” McKay reached beneath the table he was sitting at and offered the major a black trash bag. “Well, a deal’s a deal, so here you go. Lieutenant Ford’s spring wardrobe.”

“And none of my men found out? I have it on bad authority that you scientists are a chatty bunch.”

“I took every possible precaution.” McKay scooted his chair away a bit as soon as John took the bag. “Speaking of which, have you seen Carson about whatever it is that’s making you look like an extra from Shaun of the Dead? Because we really don’t need you starting some sort of epidemic before we’ve even been here a month.”

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Trust me, it’s not contagious and I’m going back to see him soon, but before I do, is there any way you can hack into Kavanagh’s tablet?”

McKay’s eyes narrowed suspiciously for a moment, but then intrigue won out. “Go on.”

“When we were down at the pier, he copied some data. He didn’t know what any of it meant though, so he showed it to Beckett and then freaked out when Beckett asked him for a copy.”

Rodney was grinning deviously now, his fingers already flying over his keyboard. “I’ll get you better than a copy, Major. I think that data needs to be confiscated and reviewed by the head of the science department for potential viruses.”

“Whatever, McKay. Just e-mail me the files when you have them, okay?”

“Yes, yes.”

“What? No demands in return?” John was surprised. It seemed that no one was granting favors for free these days.

“The conniption Kavanagh has when he realizes that I have all his data will be thanks enough. Why don’t you go to the infirmary before you have a seizure or something?”

“I’m not having a seizure!” John objected, even as he noticed he was shivering again.

“Not yet, but you should still go. It’s very difficult for me to hack with you incubating bacterial colonies in my doorway, Major.”

John knew when he wasn’t wanted, and he didn’t feel well enough to hang around and chat anyway. His ears and jaw ached, and with every shiver it seemed more and more likely that he was developing a fever. Yep, one more delivery and he was definitely going to call it a day. Deciding to brave the transporter one more time rather than risk breaking his neck on the stairs, Sheppard set out for Ford’s quarters.

A loud crash startled him as he exited the transporter, and John wheeled around, staggering against the wall when the resulting wave of dizziness threatened to bring him down. Another bang sounded, followed by low rumbling, and he winced as the throbbing in his head inched upward. When his vision finally settled, he could see the source of the noise through the windows. McKay’s predicted thunderstorm was raging full-tilt, darkening the sky to shades of green and purple. Wind swept rain against the glass in sheets. Then the lightning would flash and illuminate the choppy surf. Waves were breaking over the east pier, but they didn’t appear to be cresting high enough to be hazardous to the city.

John turned away. Even if the weather wasn’t particularly dangerous, seeing the expanse of water roiling and churning like that was too accurate a personification of the flips his stomach was doing. He moved very slowly onward down the deserted corridor-maybe everyone else was finding the storm as disconcerting as he was-and eventually made it to Ford’s room. He knocked, but didn’t receive an answer. That wasn’t too surprising since it was the middle of the day, but with the effort he and Rodney had made to ensure that Ford’s new clothes remained beneath the radar, Sheppard wasn’t about to go hunt the lieutenant down in public to make the handoff. Nor was he going to come back later, since he knew that once he crashed, he wasn’t going to move for a good long while. Trying the door, John was amazed to find it unlocked. “At least something went right today,” he muttered. Stepping inside, he set the bag on Ford’s bunk and grabbed a sheet of paper off the desk. ‘Next time you’re begging for donations yourself, Lieutenant.’ he scribbled, and set the paper on top of the bag before slipping back out of the room.

Although he eyed the transporter as he passed, John didn’t stop. He had told Beckett that he’d come back when he had Kavanagh’s information. Technically he didn’t have it yet, since he hadn’t checked his e-mail. Also, his quarters were much closer than the infirmary, just at the end of the corridor, and all he really wanted to do was sleep. Sheppard almost sighed in relief as the door closed behind him, and he made a beeline for his bed. It was dark enough with the storm that he didn’t bother pulling the curtains, but he did stop briefly to exchange his uniform for a pair of sweats and a hoodie before cocooning himself in blankets.

He awoke in pain, unsure of how much time had passed, but the increased throbbing in his head seemed to indicate that it had been awhile. Rolling onto his other side in an attempt to shift the pressure and ease the fiery spike driving through his right temple and into his eardrum, John groaned. All moving did was make him feel like he was inside a malfunctioning aircraft caught in an out-of-control dive. His stomach agreed with that assessment and sent him staggering toward the bathroom against his will.

The world was a sound-dampened, freezing, and wildly-spinning place, and John found himself wishing he would’ve gone to the infirmary as he emptied his stomach. He might’ve fallen asleep or passed out after, because the next thing he knew he was lying on the cool tile floor, feeling too spent to move. He would have been content to remain there, too, had his body not suddenly decided that the floor was too cold. The thought of getting up made him want to pass out again, but the promise of his warm bed allowed him to coax his shivering body upright.

John focused on other things as he tried to walk without falling over. He could tell that the storm was still going, since an occasional flash of lightning would wash his quarters with white. Muted rumbling, thudding, and spattering sounds further supported that speculation. Another step or two, and he’d be able to see for himself. Sheppard gripped the towel rack, then the door frame, moving cautiously forward. He stared out the window at the storm-blackened sky for several seconds before gauging how many steps it would take to reach the bed. Too many, his mind taunted, even as the thought of crawling back under the covers and sleeping enticed him onward. He let go of the doorframe, but the dizziness remained and he didn’t make it three feet before he was falling forward.

-----

It was getting close to evening before Carson realized that Major Sheppard hadn’t returned to the infirmary as promised, and when John didn’t answer his radio, Beckett’s first thought was that he was just being stubborn. It wasn’t until searches of the mess hall, the armory, and even Rodney’s lab left him with no trace of the major that Beckett began to worry. It seemed that Rodney had been the last to see Sheppard, and that had been when he’d delivered the power supplies several hours earlier.

Beckett stepped into the transporter and soon was standing at Sheppard’s quarters. He knocked several times before he tried the door. Either the major was there or he wasn’t. If he was, he would undoubtedly be annoyed at Beckett’s presence. Then again, Carson was a little annoyed at having to track the man down, so he figured they’d be even.

John’s quarters were dark and at first Beckett didn’t think the major was there after all, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, he noticed the rumpled blankets on the empty bed and someone leaning against the doorframe that led to the bathroom. “Major?” Carson questioned, stepping closer. He didn’t get a response, and for a moment he wondered if he’d imagined the shadowy figure. The lightning flashed, though, and clearly illuminated the ghostly pallor of Sheppard’s face as the man took a faltering step away from the doorway.

“Major?” Beckett called again. Still receiving no acknowledgement, he moved so that he was directly in Sheppard’s path, and suddenly found himself supporting the pilot, whose last step had sent him stumbling forward. Beckett staggered back a bit before he was able to compensate for his unexpected burden, but it seemed that John was just disoriented and with Carson’s help he managed to straighten, though not before the doctor felt the heat radiating off of him. “Bloody hell, lad, you’re burning up.”

“Beckett?” John asked, blinking in confusion. “What’re you doing here?”

“Ya didn’t answer your door, so I let myself in.”

“Sorry, couldn’t hear you…need to sit down.” John subconsciously tightened his grip on Beckett’s sleeve when the room kept spinning.

“Aye, that ya do,” Carson agreed. He was beginning to put two and two together as he guided Sheppard over to his bed. Dizziness, fever, impaired hearing… “How long have your ears been botherin’ ya, Major?”

“Dunno…sometime y-yesterday I guess? After F-Ford’s pool party.” He looked a little sheepish as he shivered again and burrowed deeper into his sweatshirt, only to find Beckett unzipping it. “H-hey-”

Carson gave him apologetic look. “You’re runnin’ a pretty high temp, son. Ya need ta get cooled down.”

John sighed in resignation as he peeled the shirt off. His t-shirt was sticking to his back and chest, and with the hoodie gone, the air made the moisture feel like ice against his hot skin. He shivered harder and was in the process of falling over when Beckett caught him once again and helped him lie down.

“Why didn’t ya say somethin’ last night?” Carson asked, eyeing him with concern.

“It wasn’t l-like this last night, n-n-not until Kavanagh made me go in the w-water again. All I needed w-were some of those swimmer’s ear d-d-drops.”

“Well we have those also, Major.”

“Y-yeah, I figured, but you ask t-too many questions, Doc,” John said with a tired smirk.

“And ya wonder why I do.” Beckett rolled his eyes as he drew the covers over the shivering man. “Rest, Major. I’ll be back shortly. Heaven knows why I didn’t bring my bag ta start with.”

Sheppard narrowed his eyes in preamble for an annoyed response, but decided he was probably in enough trouble already, so he went for pathetic instead. Curling deeper beneath the blankets, he let out a sigh that was bordering on a groan. A few minutes later, the intrusion of a thermometer in his throbbing ear produced a real groan and served to alert him to Beckett’s return. Either he’d fallen asleep, or he just hadn’t heard his door open. Both were equally likely, but he went with the first since he could hear the beeping of the thermometer clearly enough, as well as Beckett tsk-ing over the reading.

“Am I gonna live?” John mumbled after the doc had taken his blood pressure and listened to his heart and lungs.

“I’ve yet ta see a person die of an ear infection, Major, but if ya make a habit of not tellin’ me when you’re sick, especially here in another galaxy…”

“Technically, I did tell you,” John pointed out, then grunted as another instrument invaded his ear.

“Tellin’ me that you’re not fine is hardly more useful than tellin’ me ya are, lad,” Carson replied dryly, peering in Sheppard’s other ear before putting the scope back in his bag with a sigh. “And make that ear infections, plural. Are ya havin’ a lot of pain?”

“More on the right side.”

Beckett nodded. “That one’s the worst from the look of it. The good news is that neither eardrum has perforated yet. If we get some antibiotics and ibuprofen into ya overnight, ya should be feelin’ better in a day or so.”

John heard muffled rummaging and opened one eye to see Carson preparing an IV. “Aw, come on, Doc, is that really n-necessary? C-can’t you just give me s-some pills or something?”

“Normally I would say yes, Major, but your temp’s over 102 and I have no idea what kind of bacteria ya may have come into contact with during your swims. IV antibiotics will get the infection under control more quickly, and it won’t hurt ta keep ya hydrated.”

“Well, if I’ve picked up anything deadly I’m g-going to make s-s-sure to infect K-Kavanagh.”

Beckett chuckled as he expertly inserted the IV into John’s arm. “The daft bugger’d probably report ya ta Elizabeth.”

Sheppard grinned, then winced when it made the throbbing worse. “Speaking of reports, Doc, is there any w-way you can skip the part about me having an ear infection in yours?” Receiving an odd look from Beckett, John continued, “The military kind of frowns on pilots with ear problems.”

“I hardly think anyone’s going ta hold one infection against ya, Major, but if it’ll make ya feel better I’ll note my opinion that it’s an isolated incident caused by extenuating circumstances.”

John relaxed a little. “Thanks, Doc. I don’t need to give them more ammo after what happened with Colonel Sumner.”

“Again, extenuating circumstances, Major.  Ya did the best ya could in an impossible situation. In any case, I wouldn’t worry much. It isn’t as if we’re in imminent danger of makin’ contact with Earth, and if Elizabeth had a problem with the way ya handled things, you’d already know about it.”

“Y-yeah, you’re right about th-that,” John conceded with a faint smile, his eyes slipping closed, but he forced them open with an effort when something else occurred to him. “Hand me m-my laptop, will you?”

Carson frowned at him. “Ya need ta get some rest, son.”

“I will in a minute, but there should b-be an e-mail from McKay f-f-for you, Doc.”

“And it’ll still be there when you’re not too dizzy ta sit up on your own. Go ta sleep.”

-----

John did sleep, the fever and medication saw to that, but rest was an unattainable prize that night. Visions of sallow-skinned aliens with gaping maws for hands plagued him, and Colonel Sumner was among them, begging him to save his life and begging him to end it too. Sheppard almost felt like begging himself when he woke, hot and tangled in sheets, the room spinning, and a spike driving clean through his head. A kind-looking woman with a few years on him-one of Beckett’s nurses, he realized-answered his pathetic moan with a cool washcloth on his forehead and a warm one over his right ear. He almost pushed the latter away, feeling overheated as it was, but the spike receded minutely and it took effort to move so he let it be.

He was hot, then cold, then hot again, and he dreaded each return of the heat that was so reminiscent of the desert. His failures from Afghanistan dredged themselves up out of the sand, and when night finally fell on the dunes and he was racked with chills he fought to stay awake, but found that he couldn’t, not really. The nightmares were like quicksand tearing at him, not allowing escape.

After a time Beckett was there, checking him over and looking more worried than John thought he should have been over an ear infection. Then again, he felt pretty horrible, so maybe the doc was within his rights.

Time was a hazy thing at best, so John didn’t notice when Carson left, or when the storm stopped, only that the pounding in his temples hurt less without the outside rumbling. The dreams and memories didn’t leave quite so quietly, and he came awake again just as he was taking a swing at a Wraith posing as an Afghan soldier. He nearly knocked Beckett flat with that one, but the doc seemed unfazed, ducking the blow and then steadying him through another wave of vertigo.

Minutes or hours later, John noticed that the sky outside his window was edged with shades of pink and red as Carson helped him into a dry t-shirt and settled the covers back over him. He thought maybe the worst was finally over. They’d all forgotten things in coming here, but the past days had shown him that everyone still remembered how to help out-even if they often wanted something in return-and helping one another had been and would continue to be key to their survival. John would help by leading the men that were, however reluctantly, now under his command. And they’d probably reciprocate by teaching him a thing or ten along the way, but he could live with that. The colors streaking the morning sky grew more brilliant and John was finally able to rest.

~el fin~