SGA (S/B): Euphemistically Speaking... Or Not
Title: Euphemistically Speaking… Or Not
Author: Smallwaldo
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sheppard/Beckett
Words: 1780
A/N: Challenge Prompt: John with a fever. I’ve already done a “Oh, no he’s going to die of a baked brain” story a while back. ( See 'Patient Zero') So this is a bit more temperate.
Summary: “You’re hot.” Carson said. “That’s really nice of you to say, Carson, but… you know, I’m really not feeling so great right now, so you know… maybe we could… in the morning?” “No, love, you have a fever.”
Carson sighed and yanked the blankets back for the fourth time that night. He couldn’t figure out how, on such a narrow bed to begin with, John had managed to become a blanket hog.
It had been a long week capped off by an even longer day. The week had started with seven cases of a Fever-of-Unknown-Origin. After getting Rodney to shut up about the Pegasus Ebola virus that he was sure they were getting, Teyla had explained that a fever with no other symptoms, that came and went for several weeks was actually very common among the children of her people. Further research had shown that the fever was something like Earth’s chicken pox - most children got it, lived to tell about it and were never bothered by it again. Of course, the Atlantis expedition had never gotten it as children, but several of them had been in the village when the latest wave swept through hitting the boys and the girls as well as the unfortunate adults from Atlantis.
So while it wasn’t deadly or even incapacitating, it was annoying. Especially with its tendency to come and go, hourly in some cases, for the two to three weeks it took to run its course.
Then today John had come running in, full speed, rambling a mile a minute about a village that had just been culled by the Wraith and then all but burned to the ground. Ronon and Teyla had started the search and rescue while Rodney and he ran back to get more military personnel, Carson and a few medical techs. Unfortunately, all any of them had been able to do was make those who hadn’t been taken by the Wraith comfortable as they bled out from injuries incurred when buildings had fallen on them or they succumbed to their burns.
Carson had been exhausted when they’d gotten through their own post-mission exams and John had had to wheedle and cajole for all of about fifteen seconds before Carson agreed to stay the night with him. They didn’t do it often - it just wasn’t as practical as they’d have liked for it to be - but neither of them really looked forward to the idea of spending the night alone after a day of seeing so many dead and dying.
Carson sighed and rolled over, trying to get more comfortable. The room was cold. John had cracked the balcony door open before they’d gone to sleep and the cool ocean air that had felt so good at first now gave the room a definite chill.
Somehow he and John had gotten themselves back to back on the narrow bunk, so Carson carefully turned over, trying not to jostle John - after all, one of them should get a good night’s sleep if he could - and molded himself around his back, hoping to steal a little body heat.
It didn’t take him long to realize that he was getting more than just a little body heat. John had pulled the blankets up again and he was burning up.
Carson sighed. He’d thought he’d quarantined the Athosian Fever victims fast enough, but now it looked like there was about to be a wide-spread epidemic of an annoying-as-hell bug.
With a greatly put upon sigh, he rolled out of bed and fumbled around until he found his field pack where he’d dropped it by the door. Keeping the cursing in his head from coming out of his mouth by sheer will-power, he fumbled through it in the dark until he found a digital thermometer.
He stumbled back to the bed, sitting down next to John and pushing the unruly hair out of the way and put the probe into John’s ear canal.
He expected the hand that flew up to knock it away and grabbed John’s wrist before it could make contact and held onto it until the thermometer beeped. John made a face at the beeping. “What’s going on?”
“You’re hot,” Carson answered, turning John’s hand in his so he could check his pulse.
“That’s really nice of you to say, Carson, but… you know, I’m really not feeling so great right now, so you know… maybe we could… in the morning?”
Carson wasn’t sure if John was teasing or if he’d misread the situation somewhat enormously. “No, love, you have a fever.” He squinted at the display, tilting it until he could read it by moonlight. “Almost thirty-nine degrees,” he reported.
John just wrinkled his nose at Carson in confusion. He knew that on a better day he could have done the math, but it was currently eluding him. “A little over one-hundred and two the way you Americans put it. You’ll feel lousy, but it’s nothing serious. Though it does explain why you’ve been stealing the blankets all night.” Carson patted his shoulder and stood again.
“Oh, you meant… I thought you meant… Wow, egotistical much?” John asked himself. When he felt Carson stand he wondered if he’d managed to insult him or something. “Where’re you goin’?”
“To get you some meds,” Carson said, rifling through his pack again until he found a packet of Tylenol. He found some juice in the small refrigerator and came back to the bed. “Here, take these and I’ll let you go back to sleep. And I’ll let Elizabeth know that you’ll be off duty for while when I go on in the morning.”
John muttered something incomprehensible as he sat up and took the pills. Carson knew better than to ask him to repeat himself. He was fairly certain he didn’t want to know.
Carson took the remaining orange juice back to the fridge and then went to the closet and pulled down the spare, scratchy, military blanket John kept on the top shelf. He sat down on the bed with it on his lap and pushed John’s hair off of his forehead. “How do you feel otherwise?”
“Tired,” John complained. “But I can’t seem to sleep very well.”
“Not unexpected,” Carson told him as he stroked back John’s hair again, and then again as John snuggled into the motion. He smiled at the sleep-softened face, even if it was giving of enough heat energy to melt polar ice caps at the moment. “Once the Tylenol hits your system you should be comfortable enough to sleep. Anything else?”
“Just cold,” John said, trying not to whine too much like a six-year-old.
“Aye, but you need to let your body cool. We’ll leave to door open so the room doesn’t get too warm, alright?” Carson fussed with the sheet and blanket, tucking them around John comfortably. He stroked John’s face with the back of his hand, knowing that the Tylenol wouldn’t have time to kick in yet, but checking his temperature the unscientific way all the same. He found himself snickering at John’s misunderstanding again. He leaned down and kissed his forehead. “And for what it’s worth, I suppose it’s a fair estimation to say you’re the other ‘hot’ too.”
John hoped the fever would disguise the blush he felt creeping up on him. He really kind of wanted that whole conversation to go away now. He let it go as he felt the back of Carson’s fingers on his cheek again.
“Your hands are cool,” John muttered as he shifted back to his side, taking Carson’s hand in his, leaving Carson no choice but to lay down with him.
“The whole of you is warm,” Carson countered as he stretched out next to John again, shaking out the spare blanket and pulling it up.
“What’s that for?” John asked, knowing that Carson wasn’t putting another blanket on him - he’d just gotten done saying that the fever necessitated him cooling off, even if he was already chattering from the cold he felt.
“You’ve been stealing the blankets all night,” Carson answered, careful to sound just a little exasperated, and not truly frustrated or angry. He knew John wasn’t doing it on purpose.
But John pouted up at him anyway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to -“ The whole night was going rapidly downhill.
Carson leaned in and kissed him gently to shush him. “It’s alright, love, you’re not feeling well. I know you aren’t doing it on purpose.” Carson stroked his hair again, trying to settle him.
“Seriously, get rid of that thing,” John said gesturing to the field blanket with his chin. “It sucks. Itches like hell. I only have it from when the damn environmental systems kept cutting out last year after the Wraith attack. Come on…” John lifted the edge of the blanket Carson had so carefully tucked around him in invitation.
Carson sighed fondly at the pout he was receiving. “Shove over,” he finally said, scooting in under the sheet. He waited for John to shift over onto his side, facing him. “Come on, then,” he said helping John get situated with his head on his shoulder, the blankets tucked around them both.
Carson gently ran his fingers through John’s hair as John settled back into place, shifting as fever cramped muscles made him uncomfortable at first. “If your fever hasn’t broken by the time I get up tomorrow, I’m going to wake you and have you come down to the infirmary with me,” Carson told him, softening the sting by kissing the top of John’s head. John moaned at the idea of being poked and prodded anyway. “For now, go back to sleep. It’s all you’re going to want to do for a while until this thing settles out. Teyla says the children of her village sleep almost seventy-five percent of the roughly seventeen days it takes this thing to run its course.”
John sighed at the idea of being useless for more than two weeks, but he found that Carson was right, he didn’t have the energy to do anything more. After a while he summoned up the strength to say, “Sounds like mono. I suppose it wouldn’t be very nice to say I hope you get it so you can sleep all that time with me, would it?”
“It would be something of a backhanded compliment, yes,” Carson agreed. “Now rest, love. One of us does have to get up and work in the morning.”
Just a few seconds later, Carson could feel John shift that one last time, that got him into a position he could sleep in and then he heard John’s breathing level out. It only took him a few seconds to follow once he knew John was comfortable and resting. And safe, at home, in his arms.
Author: Smallwaldo
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sheppard/Beckett
Words: 1780
A/N: Challenge Prompt: John with a fever. I’ve already done a “Oh, no he’s going to die of a baked brain” story a while back. ( See 'Patient Zero') So this is a bit more temperate.
Summary: “You’re hot.” Carson said. “That’s really nice of you to say, Carson, but… you know, I’m really not feeling so great right now, so you know… maybe we could… in the morning?” “No, love, you have a fever.”
Carson sighed and yanked the blankets back for the fourth time that night. He couldn’t figure out how, on such a narrow bed to begin with, John had managed to become a blanket hog.
It had been a long week capped off by an even longer day. The week had started with seven cases of a Fever-of-Unknown-Origin. After getting Rodney to shut up about the Pegasus Ebola virus that he was sure they were getting, Teyla had explained that a fever with no other symptoms, that came and went for several weeks was actually very common among the children of her people. Further research had shown that the fever was something like Earth’s chicken pox - most children got it, lived to tell about it and were never bothered by it again. Of course, the Atlantis expedition had never gotten it as children, but several of them had been in the village when the latest wave swept through hitting the boys and the girls as well as the unfortunate adults from Atlantis.
So while it wasn’t deadly or even incapacitating, it was annoying. Especially with its tendency to come and go, hourly in some cases, for the two to three weeks it took to run its course.
Then today John had come running in, full speed, rambling a mile a minute about a village that had just been culled by the Wraith and then all but burned to the ground. Ronon and Teyla had started the search and rescue while Rodney and he ran back to get more military personnel, Carson and a few medical techs. Unfortunately, all any of them had been able to do was make those who hadn’t been taken by the Wraith comfortable as they bled out from injuries incurred when buildings had fallen on them or they succumbed to their burns.
Carson had been exhausted when they’d gotten through their own post-mission exams and John had had to wheedle and cajole for all of about fifteen seconds before Carson agreed to stay the night with him. They didn’t do it often - it just wasn’t as practical as they’d have liked for it to be - but neither of them really looked forward to the idea of spending the night alone after a day of seeing so many dead and dying.
Carson sighed and rolled over, trying to get more comfortable. The room was cold. John had cracked the balcony door open before they’d gone to sleep and the cool ocean air that had felt so good at first now gave the room a definite chill.
Somehow he and John had gotten themselves back to back on the narrow bunk, so Carson carefully turned over, trying not to jostle John - after all, one of them should get a good night’s sleep if he could - and molded himself around his back, hoping to steal a little body heat.
It didn’t take him long to realize that he was getting more than just a little body heat. John had pulled the blankets up again and he was burning up.
Carson sighed. He’d thought he’d quarantined the Athosian Fever victims fast enough, but now it looked like there was about to be a wide-spread epidemic of an annoying-as-hell bug.
With a greatly put upon sigh, he rolled out of bed and fumbled around until he found his field pack where he’d dropped it by the door. Keeping the cursing in his head from coming out of his mouth by sheer will-power, he fumbled through it in the dark until he found a digital thermometer.
He stumbled back to the bed, sitting down next to John and pushing the unruly hair out of the way and put the probe into John’s ear canal.
He expected the hand that flew up to knock it away and grabbed John’s wrist before it could make contact and held onto it until the thermometer beeped. John made a face at the beeping. “What’s going on?”
“You’re hot,” Carson answered, turning John’s hand in his so he could check his pulse.
“That’s really nice of you to say, Carson, but… you know, I’m really not feeling so great right now, so you know… maybe we could… in the morning?”
Carson wasn’t sure if John was teasing or if he’d misread the situation somewhat enormously. “No, love, you have a fever.” He squinted at the display, tilting it until he could read it by moonlight. “Almost thirty-nine degrees,” he reported.
John just wrinkled his nose at Carson in confusion. He knew that on a better day he could have done the math, but it was currently eluding him. “A little over one-hundred and two the way you Americans put it. You’ll feel lousy, but it’s nothing serious. Though it does explain why you’ve been stealing the blankets all night.” Carson patted his shoulder and stood again.
“Oh, you meant… I thought you meant… Wow, egotistical much?” John asked himself. When he felt Carson stand he wondered if he’d managed to insult him or something. “Where’re you goin’?”
“To get you some meds,” Carson said, rifling through his pack again until he found a packet of Tylenol. He found some juice in the small refrigerator and came back to the bed. “Here, take these and I’ll let you go back to sleep. And I’ll let Elizabeth know that you’ll be off duty for while when I go on in the morning.”
John muttered something incomprehensible as he sat up and took the pills. Carson knew better than to ask him to repeat himself. He was fairly certain he didn’t want to know.
Carson took the remaining orange juice back to the fridge and then went to the closet and pulled down the spare, scratchy, military blanket John kept on the top shelf. He sat down on the bed with it on his lap and pushed John’s hair off of his forehead. “How do you feel otherwise?”
“Tired,” John complained. “But I can’t seem to sleep very well.”
“Not unexpected,” Carson told him as he stroked back John’s hair again, and then again as John snuggled into the motion. He smiled at the sleep-softened face, even if it was giving of enough heat energy to melt polar ice caps at the moment. “Once the Tylenol hits your system you should be comfortable enough to sleep. Anything else?”
“Just cold,” John said, trying not to whine too much like a six-year-old.
“Aye, but you need to let your body cool. We’ll leave to door open so the room doesn’t get too warm, alright?” Carson fussed with the sheet and blanket, tucking them around John comfortably. He stroked John’s face with the back of his hand, knowing that the Tylenol wouldn’t have time to kick in yet, but checking his temperature the unscientific way all the same. He found himself snickering at John’s misunderstanding again. He leaned down and kissed his forehead. “And for what it’s worth, I suppose it’s a fair estimation to say you’re the other ‘hot’ too.”
John hoped the fever would disguise the blush he felt creeping up on him. He really kind of wanted that whole conversation to go away now. He let it go as he felt the back of Carson’s fingers on his cheek again.
“Your hands are cool,” John muttered as he shifted back to his side, taking Carson’s hand in his, leaving Carson no choice but to lay down with him.
“The whole of you is warm,” Carson countered as he stretched out next to John again, shaking out the spare blanket and pulling it up.
“What’s that for?” John asked, knowing that Carson wasn’t putting another blanket on him - he’d just gotten done saying that the fever necessitated him cooling off, even if he was already chattering from the cold he felt.
“You’ve been stealing the blankets all night,” Carson answered, careful to sound just a little exasperated, and not truly frustrated or angry. He knew John wasn’t doing it on purpose.
But John pouted up at him anyway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to -“ The whole night was going rapidly downhill.
Carson leaned in and kissed him gently to shush him. “It’s alright, love, you’re not feeling well. I know you aren’t doing it on purpose.” Carson stroked his hair again, trying to settle him.
“Seriously, get rid of that thing,” John said gesturing to the field blanket with his chin. “It sucks. Itches like hell. I only have it from when the damn environmental systems kept cutting out last year after the Wraith attack. Come on…” John lifted the edge of the blanket Carson had so carefully tucked around him in invitation.
Carson sighed fondly at the pout he was receiving. “Shove over,” he finally said, scooting in under the sheet. He waited for John to shift over onto his side, facing him. “Come on, then,” he said helping John get situated with his head on his shoulder, the blankets tucked around them both.
Carson gently ran his fingers through John’s hair as John settled back into place, shifting as fever cramped muscles made him uncomfortable at first. “If your fever hasn’t broken by the time I get up tomorrow, I’m going to wake you and have you come down to the infirmary with me,” Carson told him, softening the sting by kissing the top of John’s head. John moaned at the idea of being poked and prodded anyway. “For now, go back to sleep. It’s all you’re going to want to do for a while until this thing settles out. Teyla says the children of her village sleep almost seventy-five percent of the roughly seventeen days it takes this thing to run its course.”
John sighed at the idea of being useless for more than two weeks, but he found that Carson was right, he didn’t have the energy to do anything more. After a while he summoned up the strength to say, “Sounds like mono. I suppose it wouldn’t be very nice to say I hope you get it so you can sleep all that time with me, would it?”
“It would be something of a backhanded compliment, yes,” Carson agreed. “Now rest, love. One of us does have to get up and work in the morning.”
Just a few seconds later, Carson could feel John shift that one last time, that got him into a position he could sleep in and then he heard John’s breathing level out. It only took him a few seconds to follow once he knew John was comfortable and resting. And safe, at home, in his arms.