Series: Moments
Sacred and Profane
Title: MSP5: First
Elegy
email:
just_us_mice@yahoo.com
Category: Stargate:
Atlantis, McKay/Beckett
Warnings: slash,
angst, hurt/comfort
Spoilers: none
Rating: PG
Summary: Carson and Rodney are having a rough recovery.
Archive: If it's on
your list, you can archive it. If isn't and you'd like it, just let me know
where you're putting it.
Website: Mice's
Hole in the Wall https://www.squidge.org/mice
Mirror:
http://mice.inkpress.org
Disclaimer: I don't
own these guys. Honest. I'm just playing with them for a while. I'll put them
back when I'm done. They may be slightly worse for wear.
Author's Notes:
Thanks to Abylity for Rodney-beta. More thanks to Ladyhawk for the medical beta
bits. Non-gratuitous Gaelic warning for the squeamish. It's part of the plot,
honest.
~~~
First Elegy
For beauty is nothing
but the beginning of
terror, which we still are just able to endure
~~Rainer Maria Rilke, from
Duino Elegies, The First Elegy
trans. Stephen Mitchell~~
Sheppard sat next to McKay
as Dr. Bentz worked, her concern obvious in the fast efficiency of her motions.
McKay was hooked up to a respirator and still looked faintly blue around the
lips. Rodney wasn't out of the woods yet.
Beckett wasn't in good
shape, either. He'd taken a really ugly blow to the head at some point, and
while he'd obviously been together enough to save Rodney's life, he'd been
extremely disoriented and puking sick when he'd initially come around in the
Jumper. Michelle Tuchman, the RN who usually assisted him, was very worried
about him. She'd had no idea how he'd managed to get as far as he did in his
condition, much less dragging McKay part of the way. Apparently, that he'd
managed to be on his feet at all was close to miraculous. It seemed that
Beckett was made of stronger stuff than anybody had suspected.
Between McKay's
anaphylaxis, Beckett's concussion and fractured skull, and the burns and smoke
inhalation they'd both suffered, it would be a while before either of them were
on their feet again. Tuchman had assured him that McKay would make a full
recovery, but that it would be about a week before he was anything like himself
again.
He'd always thought McKay
was exaggerating when he talked about being allergic. He never believed the man
might actually die from something he ate. He'd come far too close. Ford had
done CPR on McKay on the Jumper. McKay's body had entirely shut down. Beckett
had had nothing to work with, stranded in the fire. The weird little hollow
plant tube he'd shoved down McKay's throat had been the only thing keeping him
alive.
Beckett, in his own quiet
way, was just as brilliant as McKay. He'd almost lost them both.
"He'll be all right,
Major," Bentz reassured him. "He's still having some difficulty
breathing on his own, but he's getting enough oxygen. We've got his blood
pressure stabilized, though it's still lower than I'd like to see. His color's
improving and the hives are starting to go down. The smoke inhalation was bad,
but you got them here in time."
The mission had been a
disaster, start to finish. He reached out and put a hand on McKay's arm now
that Bentz had finished with him. It helped calm him, knowing his lead
scientist and teammate was still with him. "What about the burns?"
"Mostly minor. First
and second degree burns on both of them, but they're small. I assure you, we're
no longer in immediate danger of losing Dr. McKay."
"And Beckett?"
"Touch and go."
She sighed, and he could feel her unease. "He should be out of surgery
soon. They had to relieve some pressure on his brain from blood pooling under
the fracture. He's still in very guarded condition." Her dark brown eyes
showed exhaustion, and she leaned against McKay's bed with one hip as she
spoke. "Shel will keep a close eye on him tonight. We're concerned, but
the scans didn't show any serious brain damage. I think he'll be all right,
though recovery from this can be slow."
"Thanks, Carol."
He relaxed a little.
"Major?"
"Yeah?"
"You need to rest
too." Bentz patted his shoulder, a small, tired smile on her lovely
cafe-au-lait face. He wondered briefly if she was seeing anyone, but decided he
was too exhausted to even think about it right now.
"Right, doc. I'll see
you in the morning."
Back in his quarters,
Sheppard reviewed the mission for the umpteenth time. He'd already debriefed
with Weir and the others.
Utter failure.
He hated missions like
that. They'd been sent to Tannaz with Beckett and a bunch of medical supplies
to help the Tannazin with an epidemic. Tannaz was a relatively primitive planet,
but they'd had food enough to trade in the past month or so, and had become
allies of a sort. The Tannazin were forest people, living in houses suspended
in the trees. It was like some Star Wars fantasy, but without the stupid Ewoks.
Their villages were a
couple of hours hike from the nearest clearing, and so they'd had to land the
Jumper and go in on foot. There'd been very hot, dry weather recently, and the
epidemic had come upon them suddenly.
Unfortunately, the hot,
dry weather had also led to a series of heat-lightning strikes, and the forest
had gone up like jet fuel. He'd heard an hour or so ago that the Tannazin had
lost three entire villages to the fire -- a heartbreaking tragedy. The Gate
team had been separated by an immense, blazing tree that crashed down in their
midst. They were lucky they weren't all dead.
Some days, he hated his
job. His thoughts turned to Beckett as he slipped between his sheets. He hoped
the doc would be all right. Everyone was worried about him -- even more than
they'd been worried about McKay. When they'd found him, one side of his face
had been a massive, mangled bruise.
He knew it would be hours
before he could sleep.
***
Carson's eyes opened
slowly. The light was too bright, and his head ached obscenely. Everything else
did too, come to think of it. Squinting against it, he looked around. It was
all very familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.
"Doctor
Beckett."
He turned his head a
little. That was a mistake. A sudden wave of nausea overwhelmed him and he
panted for a moment, trying to settle it. "Shel." He was in the
infirmary. He wasn't sure why, or how he'd gotten there. God, his head was
throbbing.
"How do you feel,
Carson?" He just groaned and closed his eyes. He felt a cool hand on his
cheek. "You're going to be all right."
"Wha' ha...?"
His throat burned, but he couldn't remember why that would be. It must have
been something awful. His voice sounded small and thready. He felt weaker than
a dying kitten.
"Do you remember
going to Tannaz?" Shel took his hand and sat on the bed next to him.
Tannaz. That sounded --
"Aye." Tannaz. The fire. He looked at her. "Rodney -- he
--"
"He'll be fine,
Carson. You saved his life. You asked about him when you came around the first
couple of times."
"Mm." It was all
he could manage for an answer, despite his intense relief. He couldn't remember
being conscious before, only Rodney, dying as the forest burned around them.
"You have a severe
concussion and a skull fracture. We had to do some surgery, but there's no
permanent damage. I have no idea how you managed what you did, but everyone's
very proud of you."
"Others?" It was
a horrible effort, just trying to get one word out at a time. He was slipping
back under again and he knew it.
"The rest of the Gate
team is fine. Just rest."
At least the darkness was
peaceful.
***
Shel Tuchman did her
rounds through the night, looking in every so often on Carson and Dr. McKay.
She wasn't sure which of them worried her more, though she liked Carson far
better. He was a kind, pleasant man, witty and charming in a shy way, and a
good one to work for. He was always so sweet to her, even on the bad days when
everyone was indulging their tendency to snap necks.
McKay was usually
annoying, and while she knew he had genuine medical problems, he tended to
exaggerate everything in some twisted bid for attention. The man obviously
believed he was the center of the universe. His sense of humor, in her opinion,
was his saving grace. He could be a sharp-tongued bastard without even thinking
about it, but he also had a capacity to make people laugh that made her
slightly less eager to take a baseball bat to him.
She leaned against the
wall next to Carson's bed, looking down at him as he slept fitfully. The
monitors beeped and hummed exactly as they should. His head was bandaged from
the surgery, and his face was battered and badly bruised. So was the rest of
him, from what she'd seen when they prepped him for surgery. It hurt to see him
like this. A sweet guy like Carson shouldn't get hurt. There was a cosmic
wrongness to it that rankled her.
Shel wondered, not for the
first time, if he had anybody at home. Not that he'd ever mentioned anyone --
but it really wouldn't do to get involved with the boss anyway. Lousy idea,
even if he was kind of cute. She sighed and moved along to check on Dr. McKay.
The guy was a world-class
asshole. He treated every woman she'd ever talked to like some dippy bimbo from
hell. Logically, she could only think of two possible reasons for this. A: he
honestly had no clue that he was a world-class asshole and that he offended
women right and left. B: he was queer as a three-dollar bill and just never
considered that he was being offensive. Shel couldn't quite wrap her brain
around somebody being that way deliberately. She was leaning toward A at the
moment. Word was he had some kind of fixation on Col. Carter back at the SGC.
Poor Carter. She shook her head.
McKay's breathing was
still a little ragged, but that was only to be expected. He was doing very well,
considering, and they'd moved him from the respirator to a cannula just before
the night shift started. The smoke inhalation had only complicated the
anaphylaxis, and it would be a couple of days before he was up to much. At
least he'd be quiet.
As she watched, his eyes
fluttered open.
"Dr. McKay?" She
moved closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Unnh."
"Would you like some
ice?"
He nodded. His throat was
undoubtedly very painful after everything he'd been through. She got some chips
and raised the head of his bed so he would be able to breathe and swallow
reasonably easily. His skin was still very pale, and there were deep purple
arcs under his eyes. He looked half dead. He took the offered chip and sucked
for a moment.
"Thanks." His
voice was harsh and it hurt to listen to him.
"How are you
feeling?"
He blinked at her.
"How d'you... think?" The expression on his face wasn't quite a
scowl, though he managed to project his opinion that she was terminally stupid.
She cut him a little more slack than usual because she knew he was feeling
miserable.
"How... Car..."
There was worry in his eyes, and his body tensed.
"Dr. Beckett's
asleep. He's doing better." Interesting that McKay would ask after someone
else rather than bitch about his own condition. Then again, nobody had any real
idea what had happened to them, either. It wasn't like either of them had been
in any condition to give a report.
McKay nodded and relaxed.
He looked vaguely pleased. She checked his monitors and noted his chart.
"Would you like me to stay for a while? For a little company?"
He nodded again.
"Please." Now she knew he had to be miserable. 'Please' wasn't a word
normally found in his vocabulary. He started coughing hard, and she helped roll
him onto his side to ease his chest. After a moment, he was breathing steadily
again, and she absently rubbed his back in small, soothing circles.
"You're going to be
fine," she said softly.
"Worried... about
him." McKay's eyes closed and he shifted uneasily.
"I am too," she
admitted, "but he's going to be all right." She offered him more ice,
and he took it, seeming grateful.
"Thought he...
thought he was gonna die on me." His voice was clearing a little with the
cold water. It wasn't so painful to listen to now, though his stark fear came
through clearly, without the usual dramatic hyperbole.
She had a lot of paperwork
to do, but it could wait a few more minutes. McKay was starting to seem almost
human. It was worth seeing. "What happened down there?"
"River," McKay
said. "Hit his head on... something in the river. Thought he'd drowned.
Thought... lost him." He was shifting restlessly, agitated.
"It's over now. He's
safe. You are too."
McKay nodded. "Wish I
could see him."
"Not for a couple of
days. Neither of you is in any condition to be getting out of bed." She
thought for a minute. "He asked after you."
McKay looked up at her,
something inexpressible in his eyes. "He did?"
Shel nodded.
"Yeah."
McKay smiled. It was a
tiny, satisfied smile. She wondered if Option A might just be wrong. Not that
it was any of her business. She'd just assumed Carson was worried about McKay
as he'd be worried about anybody else on the station.
Anybody he'd almost died
with.
She had a lot to think
about.
***
It was a few days before
Rodney was allowed out of bed to see Carson. His face was a horrifying rainbow
of bruises. It made Rodney's gut clench in a very bad way. He'd never seen
Carson looking so bad, not even when he thought he was drowned. Carson's
responses were still a little slow and scrambled, but everyone was quick to
assure him that these things happened with traumatic brain injuries, and that
he was definitely getting better.
This didn't stop Rodney
from worrying.
They'd been talking some
when Carson was awake. At the moment, Radek Zelenka and Erin Siwicki were
visiting them. They'd brought some flowers from the mainland, a gift from
Carson's Thursday night friends.
"...and so Kavanagh
threw it across the room," Zelenka said with a chuckle. Erin just stared
at him.
"Well thank God he
didn't break it," she said.
"Kavanagh's got the
IQ of pond scum," Rodney said.
"I think you're being
generous," Zelenka replied. He pulled his glasses off and wiped them with
his shirt, then slipped them back on.
"As long as he
doesn't blow himself up," Carson said. "Then he'd be my
problem."
He saw how drawn Carson
looked and made an executive decision. "Okay, playtime's over. Time to go
now." Rodney said. "I'm tired."
"Oh," Zelenka
said, "the high and mighty one is getting ugly again."
Rodney gave him a look.
"Yes. Glad you noticed. Begone, minion." He waved a hand at him
dismissively.
They looked at him. Carson
looked at him too, but nodded. "Aye, me too. I'm sorry." The
exhaustion in his voice was unmistakable.
"Sure, doc,"
Erin said. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to wear you guys out. Feel better
soon, eh?" She leaned over and gave Carson's shoulder a gentle squeeze. He
smiled at her.
"You both get some
rest," Zelenka said as they left.
"Thanks," Carson
whispered when they'd gone. "I didn't have the heart to bid them go."
"I know." He
took Carson's hand. "Do you want me to leave too?"
Carson shook his head
carefully. "No. I'd rather you stay."
"Okay." He
sighed happily. Rodney put an arm on Carson's bed and rested his head there,
his fingers twined with Carson's. He really was tired and ached all over, but
he didn't want to go.
Carson squeezed his hand.
"You were great down there," he said. Rodney felt Carson's other hand
caress his hair. Nice. A little scary, but nice. "Thanks for keeping me
going. I'd have died if I were alone."
"So would I,"
Rodney said. Carson's hand started to move away from his hair. "Please,
don't stop," he whispered. The fingers returned, stroking gently.
"Rodney..."
"What?" He
looked up at Carson.
"You know, you've
been here three times now, and we've talked but you haven't said a bloody
word." Carson's eyes were half-closed now, and his voice betrayed his
exhaustion. "I'd really prefer it if you'd talk to me."
"What do you want me
to say?"
Carson sighed. "Are
you goin' to be all right, a ch�raid?"
He slipped his free hand
up onto Carson's chest, just letting it rest there for a few moments. He could
feel Carson's heart beating through the thin cloth of the hospital gown.
"Maybe," he finally said. "If you are."
"Och, Rodney. What am
I gonna do with you?" Carson managed a weak smile.
Rodney eased himself over
a bit and kissed Carson's mouth softly. It was brief, but felt good, and
Carson's lips moved with his. He wished they both felt better. He really wanted
to kiss Carson again, but it looked like he was about to pass out.
There was the quiet sound
of a throat clearing behind them, and they both started.
"It's okay," she
said. It was Shel Tuchman, the nurse. She'd actually been being nice to him
recently, which was unusual. Mostly they traded insults when he was in the
infirmary.
Rodney blushed. "Uh,
look, Tuchman, I can--"
"It's all right,
gentlemen." She eyed him suspiciously. "Your secret's safe with me.
What you do together is your business, not mine." Her gaze intensified and
she locked eyes with him. "But I came to take you back to your bed. You
need some rest, Dr. McKay, and so does Dr. Beckett. Visiting hour's over for
both of you."
She came and stood beside
Rodney, laying a hand on Carson's forehead. "How are you feeling?"
she asked him.
"Don't worry, Shel,
I'll sleep. I'm half there already, right enough." He took her hand.
"You're a fine nurse, luv. I appreciate the care you're taking of
us."
She smiled at him gently.
"Only the best for you, Carson." Rodney wondered if she had designs
on him. Great. Carson was obviously gonna go for the medical chick. They had a
lot more in common. She was a hell of a lot nicer than he was, even on her
worst days, and why would Carson even want an asshole like him anyway? Tuchman
had great tits. She was even pretty. He started to shut himself down, hopeless
and bitter. "Dr. McKay?"
He sighed and gave
Carson's hand another small squeeze, then stood. This would be just another in
a long string of failures, he thought. The pure mathematical precision of his
miserable sexual record with other human beings was astonishing.
Tuchman put an arm around
him and supported him as they walked back to his bed. She looked him in the eye
as she helped him lie down. "You do realize, doctor, that if you hurt him,
I'll personally amputate your ass and nail it to the wall in the Gate room.
There might be a crowd waiting their turn."
He swallowed. She looked
like the sort to carry out a threat. What really surprised him was that she
wasn't simply threatening to club him like a baby seal for having kissed Carson
in the first place. "I'll keep that in mind."
She grinned and chuckled.
"Just wanted you to know. Try to rest, okay?" She took his hand in a
much friendlier gesture than he'd expected. "I think you're an ass, but it
seems like you do actually care about Carson, so I'll stay out of it. I meant
it when I said I wouldn't tell anyone, but it's for his sake, not yours.
Understand that. He's a good man, and I won't just stand by and watch him get
hurt. Not by you, not by anyone else."
Rodney nodded. "Okay.
Yeah. I get it. Now go do your voodoo somewhere else." Maybe there was
still some hope here after all.
"You got it, Dr.
Sourpuss. I'll check in on you later. You need anything, just buzz me."
Her hand slipped from his and she left.
Would wonders never cease?
***
He was burning. Fire was
everywhere and he was alone and he was fucking *burning.* Carson was lying face
down in the river and oh god, what if he was dead?
Rodney ran, trying to get
to Carson. The rocks slipped under his feet and he twisted an ankle. He
stumbled, and burning limbs fell around him, on him, searing his skin. He
screamed Carson's name, but his voice was drowned in the roar of the fire.
Smoke blinded him, choked
him, and his eyes ran. He wasn't crying. Really. Rodney McKay didn't cry. Not
even when he thought his best friend was dead. God, Carson *was* his best
friend.
He scrabbled over the
rocks, his flesh burning, hands and knees opening on the rough boulders.
"Carson!" Rodney threw himself into the river, and the glacier cold
burned as much as the fire.
He was choking on smoke
and water and the river's current was trying to drag him away from Carson, but
he held on with every bit of strength he had. Gasping, he tore Carson from the
river's grasp, dragged him onto the bank and turned him over.
Carson wasn't breathing.
His face was almost unrecognizable, battered by the rocks. He wasn't breathing.
Rodney put his ear to Carson's chest.
No heartbeat.
No! It wasn't supposed to
be this way!
He startled with hands on
his shoulders, and Tuchman's urgent voice calling his name. His throat was raw.
Without a word, he wrapped himself around her and sobbed. She stiffened for a
moment, then put her arms around him and stroked his back, whispering soothing
words.
"It's okay, Rodney.
You're safe. You're all right. Carson's safe, I swear."
"He's dead, he was
dead, I couldn't save him, he was--" He clung to her, still not quite
awake and aware.
"He's alive. He's
fine. Breathe, Rodney. Wake up."
He suddenly realized where
he was and what he was doing. He jerked away from Tuchman. His eyes widened.
Shit, he'd been *sobbing* on the woman.
"It's okay," she
said softly.
"Get away from
me," he snarled. Oh fuck, that was embarrassing. "I'm fine."
She nodded and stood.
"You were having a pretty serious nightmare, Dr. McKay. I can give you
something to help you sleep, so you won't have another."
"Yeah. Sure. Fine.
Pill me." He growled and turned away from her, wiping fiercely at his
eyes. At least she was being professional about it. He was having a hard time
catching his breath, but took the proffered pill and cup of water when she
handed them to him.
"Ah, medical
science," he mumbled. "Drug it into unconsciousness and hope it goes
away."
"Goodnight,
doctor." She left, looking back at him with a concerned expression on her
face. He hated her for it. What right did she have to care about him when he
was such a mess? He rolled onto his side, letting himself brood for a while.
Brooding was good. It made him feel more normal. Like life was going on as
usual.
He shook, trying to shiver
the nightmare away before the drug dragged him back into sleep. It bothered
him, how much he had started to care about Carson. He was just going to get
hurt anyway, and he knew it. Getting close to somebody was a waste of time. It
was an unacceptable risk. He was stupid to let himself feel something for
anyone else.
Especially for Carson, who
was really a prince of a guy when you got right down to it. Not that he'd ever
admit that out loud, mind you. That fucking Tuchman had seen him kiss Carson,
and that terrified him. She'd said their 'secret' was safe with her, but he
knew women: inveterate gossips to a one. By noon tomorrow, everybody would
know. He was never going to live this down. They all thought he was a wuss
already. If they knew he was kissing guys? All hell was going to break loose
-- he just knew it.
He'd probably have some
stupid sub-moron Marine gorilla stomping his ass in a hallway as soon as he got
out of the infirmary. Joy.
Damn, he was tired. He
wished Carson were with him. He'd feel better if he could touch him. He'd wrap
his arms around him. Yeah, that would be good. Comfortable. Reassuring. He
turned his head to look over his shoulder, back toward Carson's bed at the far
end of the room. They were separated by those dumb privacy curtains, of course,
so he couldn't see anything.
He wanted the warmth of
Carson's back pressed against his chest, needed the reassurance of him
breathing against him. He knew if Carson were there, he wouldn't have another
nightmare. He'd know, even in his sleep, that everything was all right, that
Carson was alive and recovering.
He was a sap. Carson would
never actually stay with him. The guy had too many admirers around here. He'd
get a better offer and off he'd go, some chickie on his arm, or a way better
looking guy. The only thing Rodney had going for him was brains, and he knew
it.
Tears ran down his face
and he berated himself for his utter stupidity. Why the hell had he ever made a
pass at Carson in the first place? He was doomed. Want for his friend dug into
his gut and the pain stayed as he faded into sleep.
***
Carson woke, a little
dizzy, but he was starting to get used to that. He hoped it would go away soon.
At least he wasn't forgetting things anymore. He remembered the forest, the
river, why they'd been on Tannaz. Remembered Rodney saving his life, and then
saving Rodney's. He didn't remember anything between passing out in the fire
and waking up in the infirmary, apparently for about the third time, but he
didn't really expect to get those memories back. Sometimes these things just
vanished, and he could live with that.
He was alive, and despite
his worst fears, so was Rodney. They were both recovering. That was what
mattered.
Someone was hovering over
his bed.
"Carol." It was
Dr. Bentz.
"Good morning,
Carson. How are you feeling?" She was going through his chart.
"Better, actually. A
little dizzy, but I can remember most everything now. My head hurts a wee bit
less."
"No more disco?"
He chuckled. "It's
gone to bad country western, luv."
She grinned. "I
suppose that's an improvement. I think we can take you off the monitors
today." She sat down next to him.
"Oh, good,
good."
"Everyone's asking
after you, but we're not letting most of them visit yet. You're still not up to
it." She put a hand on his wrist. "You need more rest than they'd
give you."
He nodded, remembering
Zelenka and Siwicki's visit. They hadn't been long, but it had been draining.
"Aye, it's true. I still wish I could see folks, though."
"Maybe tomorrow, if
you rest up enough today." She smiled softly. He appreciated that everyone
was being a little overprotective. Normally it would bother him, but right now
he knew he needed it. "You're making a spectacular recovery, but we don't
want to take any chances with you."
"How's Rodney?"
He looked over toward Rodney's bed, but the privacy curtains were still in
place.
"Shel said he had a
bad night. Nightmares or flashbacks, apparently. She had to give him some
Ativan."
"I'm sorry to hear
it. He's still asleep then?" If Rodney were having nightmares, knocking
him out for twelve hours or so would probably give him enough rest to get him
feeling better. Since he was breathing normally again, the CNS depressant
effect wouldn't bother him.
"Yeah. Out
cold." She chuckled. "Probably a good thing. He whines so much I just
want to strangle him."
"Och, he's not so
bad." He sighed. "Any chance I could have a wee look in on him?"
"You said you were
dizzy, so no. I'm not letting you get up until that passes." She gave him
her 'firm' look.
"Ah, now Carol, you
know it's not so bad --"
"Don't even try to
sweet-talk me, Carson. I know you too well." She squeezed his wrist.
"Maybe this afternoon, if you're feeling better, we might let you sit up.
Chances are, though, that he'll be up and wanting to come see you instead. He's
been pretty adamant about it."
"Well," Carson
said, "it was a really rough spot, the fire. Almost dyin' with someone can
change things."
Carol nodded. "I
know; I've seen it happen before. And if anybody needs a friend and some
socialization with normal human beings, it's McKay. I just hope you're up to
it."
Carson smiled. "I
think I can manage." He hoped so, at any rate. He knew how easily Rodney
went awry sometimes, and wondered if he'd be all right after whatever had
triggered the episode.
He drifted in and out of
sleep for much of the day, still exhausted. Head injuries were like that, he
knew. He had a slow trickle of allowed visitors, but no one was let to stay
long. That was fine by him. He didn't say much to anyone, though he was happy
they'd cared enough to come by.
Rodney was there when he
opened his eyes again.
"Hey."
"Ciamar a tha thu?"
"What?" Rodney
looked distinctly puzzled.
"Cia--" Oh
bloody crap. It wasn't English. He knew what he wanted to say, but had
forgotten the words. Shite.
"Carol," he
said, "faigheam Bentz!" Damn damn damn. It was worse than he thought.
These things could happen with a brain injury. Forgetting things. Forgetting a
whole bloody *language.* Wonderful. And as far as he knew, not one other person
on the station spoke Gaidhlig. This was not good. This was unholy awful.
"Carson? Are you all
right? You don't sound good."
He shook his head no and
pointed off toward the duty desk. "Faigheam Carol!" he snapped.
"You want me to get
Dr. Bentz?" Rodney had a panicked look in his eyes. Carson wouldn't be
surprised if there was a similar expression in his own. He nodded vigorously.
Unfortunately, this made his head spin.
Rodney pushed the panic
button, and several people came running. Carol was in the lead.
"What's wrong?"
She looked at both of them.
"He's -- he's not
speaking English. I don't think he can." Rodney looked up at her then back
down at him again.
"Oh dear.
Carson?" She looked down at him, probably assessing his pupil dilation.
"Carol. I... och..." He tried English again,
but it wasn't working. It wasn't Gaidhlig this time, but more of a stammer. Frustrated,
he gave in to it. "Cha 'n eil mi Beurla labhair!" He grabbed Carol's
hand, close to panic.
"Carson, do you
understand me?" He nodded. "What language are you speaking?"
Thank god, she'd got it!
"Gaidhlig."
Carol turned to Shel.
"Get the linguists on the line. See if anybody knows Gaelic. We need a
translator up here, stat."
Shel nodded and ran. He
sighed and sagged back into his pillow. Now all he could do was wait while they
poked and prodded him. He was probably going to have to suffer through a CAT
scan and an MRI, at the very least. That was going to mean an extremely
uncomfortable day.
About fifteen minutes
later, Erin Siwicki came dashing in. That surprised him. He knew she was a
linguist, but she worked in anthropology.
"Are you all right,
Carson?" she asked him in Gaidhlig. It wasn't that bad, even. Her accent
was quite good, for an American; Lewis with a little South Uist mixed in, he
thought. The slight overlay of something vaguely New England was queer, but
he'd get used to it if this lasted very long.
He'd never figured her for
a Gaidhlig speaker -- more likely Polish, he'd thought. Then again, with
Americans you could never be sure. If they spoke more than one language, only
god knew what the others might be.
"I've lost my English,"
he said miserably. "It's got to be the brain injury. Oh, god, what am I
going to do?"
"It's okay. We'll
work 'round it." She turned to Carol. "He can't remember
English," she said in that language.
"It's all right,
Carson," Carol said. "You've been doing really well up until now. In
all likelihood, this is temporary. It may be a while, but you should get it
back. We're going to do the usual scans. I don't want you to panic, okay?"
He nodded. "I hope
you're right," he said, and Erin faithfully repeated it for him in
English. He was going to have to thank her properly when this was all over.
"Are there any other Gaidhlig speakers, or are you the only one?" he
asked her quietly.
"Two who have Irish,
but you and I know that's not a help," she said. "It's me you're
stuck with."
He sighed. "It's luck
you're here, then."
"I had no idea you
spoke it," she said. "Being Glaswegian and all."
"My parents were from
Skye," he told her. "It's my first language."
"That explains it,
then," she said. "From what I understand, a person can lose a second
language sometimes, if they get some kind of brain trauma."
Carson nodded.
"Right, that's it, indeed. I think that's what's happened."
"What's going
on?" Rodney snapped.
"Keep your shorts on,
McKay," Erin said. "I'm just getting a couple of questions answered
with my client. I need to know a couple of things so I can help him
properly."
"Client?" Rodney
looked well and truly puzzled.
She pointed to herself.
"Translator." Her finger moved to Carson. "Client. Is that clear
enough for you?"
Carson chuckled. Rodney
looked annoyed. "How am I supposed to talk to him, then?"
"The same way you
always do, except if you want an answer, I'm probably going to have to give it
to you until he gets his English back." Erin shrugged. "Unless you
want to learn Scots Gaelic, but that can take a while. It's not nearly so
complicated as Ancient, but it is one of the rougher ones for English speakers.
I mean, I can teach you if you want me to."
"Dr. McKay, we're
going to have to get you back to your own bed," Carol said. "We've
got a lot of work to do here. Dr. Siwicki's the only one who can stay right
now, because we need her to translate for Dr. Beckett."
"But--" Rodney
looked like he was about to spit bile.
"Leave it,
Rodney," he said, and Erin translated it.
Rodney looked defeated.
This was going to be awkward. Very awkward.
"I'll be all right.
Just give it a few days. If it goes beyond that, well..." He sighed.
"Maybe it's Gaidhlig you'll be learning after all. While I re-learn
English." Oh god, that would be annoying. At least he understood it. He
wondered if he could read it.
That set him into a panic
and he looked up at Carol. "What if I can't read?"
Carol listened to Erin
then picked his chart up. "Here, Carson. We might as well find out
now."
He took the chart and
sighed with relief when it all made perfect sense. "Good, it's good. I can
still read. I just can't speak it!"
The next several hours
were miserable. He was poked, prodded, scanned, x-rayed, and generally treated
like a man with a brain injury. Which, of course, he was, but he'd hoped there
wouldn't be any complications in his recovery. Erin was patient, and her
vocabulary was really quite good. She only once pulled a palm computer out to
check something she wasn't sure of, and it was an idiomatic turn of phrase, so
he couldn't blame her.
Once they were done, he
was close to agony from the noise and vibrations. "Erin, luv," he
said, "can you tell them I want back to my bed? I just can't take any more
today."
She nodded. "Of
course, Carson. Is there anything I can do for you? I hate to see you like
this, depending on me to communicate." She turned and spoke to Carol, then
brought her attention back to him.
"That translation
program you've got, how good is it?"
"It's just isolated
words and short phrases. More of a dictionary than a translation program,
really." She handed the palm to him, and he examined it. "I'm not
sure it would be of much use to actually speak with anyone, but you can try it if
you prefer. The font face is small, though, so it may be a strain on your eyes.
I don't want to be a bother."
She was right. It wouldn't
be much use, but it would help a bit. "You're no bother. If you'll let me
borrow this, I can at least give them a few words when you're not here."
"Anything that'll
help set you right, Carson."
He took her hand as they
lifted him back onto a gurney. "It's good to have someone to talk to. How
did you come to have Gaidhlig?"
"Part of my
ethnomusicology studies," she said. "I found an interest in the
music, and there was a Gaidhlig choir in town -- the only one in the US at the
time, apparently. It was my luck. I learned the language because the music was
so beautiful. Even went to Portree for the M�d one year."
"Portree? That's almost
home to me, I've family there." Carson grinned then gave her a surprised
look. "Wait, I think I heard about that. There was an American choir --
from Seattle, wasn't it? And they placed second that year. It was a mad shock
to everyone, I'll tell you."
She smiled at him and
nodded. "Indeed, that was us."
"You've the heart of
a Gael, then. I'm over the moon that you're here."
She held his hand as they
wheeled him back to his bed. "I'm glad I have the Gaidhlig. I had no
thought of ever speaking it here, except maybe to sing. Unlike most of my
languages, this was purely for pleasure and the love of the music."
They tucked him back into
his bed. Rodney was waiting there, looking stubborn. "I'm not letting them
chase me away," he said. He sounded entirely pig-headed.
"I'm sorry Dr. McKay,
but he needs his rest," Carol said.
"She gets to
stay." Rodney pointed at Erin.
"Not if he's asleep,
I don't," Erin replied.
"I'm too tired for
talk, Rodney," Carson said. Rodney looked exceedingly annoyed when Erin
had to repeat it for him in English.
"Then just let me
stay with him. I won't bother him." Rodney's attitude was halfway between
pleading and a thunderous demand. Carson wondered how he managed that one. He
nodded to Rodney and looked up at Carol.
"Carol?" he
asked. "If he just wants to sit with me, that would be fine."
He waited through the
translation, and Carol nodded. "All right." She looked at McKay.
"But if you keep him awake, you'll be out of here so fast you won't know
where you left your ass."
Rodney grumbled but
nodded. Erin left a commlink on his bedside table. "If you wake and you
need anything, just call me. I'll come right up."
"I can't be
disturbing you later." He looked into her grey eyes, hidden behind oval
glasses.
"This is my current assignment
until you're speaking English again," she said. "Dr. Weir's cleared
me from all other duties. I'm at your disposal at all hours. Anytime you need
anything, or if you just need to talk, you call me." She had a stern look
in her eyes. "I mean it. I don't want to hear that you're lacking for
anything because you've refused to call me, you stubborn thing."
"Right, then."
She put a warm hand on his
shoulder. "Rest, Carson. I'll come by later tonight, on the chance you
need anything."
With that, Erin and Carol
left, and he was alone with Rodney. He looked at him and sighed, wishing he
could at least say a few words the man would understand.
Rodney just looked at him
for a minute, sorrow keen in his face. "I'm sorry about this, Carson. This
just sucks."
Carson nodded and took his
hand. "Sleep, Rodney. I need to sleep." But of course, Rodney didn't
understand a word of it.
Rodney just leaned over
and took him in his arms. Carson held onto him, wondering what would happen if
he never got his English back. He couldn't have Erin haunting him all the time,
and it could take months before Rodney and the medical staff learned enough
Gaidhlig for him to function with them.
He shook as tears leaked
silently from his eyes.
"It's okay,"
Rodney whispered. "It'll be okay. It has to be." He sounded like he
didn't believe it.
He held Rodney tighter,
saying nothing, trying not to think.
***
His English came back
slowly over the course of the next three days, but it wasn't the first stroke
that felled the tree, as they said. Erin was a blessing to him, patient as a
mare with his confused mix of Gaidhlig and English. He was frustrated and angry
the whole time, snapping at people when he hadn't meant to. He snapped at her
sometimes, too, but she seemed to understand and would let it go.
Rodney's impatience with
the situation had an undertone of fear to it, but he'd leaped down the man's
throat at one point. It had kept him away for a day and a half, and Carson
regretted having done it, but done was done, and he'd just have to apologize
when he was able to speak with Rodney alone.
They were releasing Rodney
from the infirmary when he saw him again. Erin wasn't nearby, as she'd gone off
for her lunch.
"Rodney." Rodney
gave him a look as he approached. "I wanted to apologize." The look
softened a bit.
"I probably should
too," Rodney said. "I wasn't making things easier on you, was
I?"
Carson shook his head.
"Not really. It's been fr-frustrating, not bein' able to get the words to
come right. I shouldn't have taken it out on you though." He still had a
little bit of a stammer on some words, but that wasn't too unusual under the
circumstances.
"No," Rodney
agreed, "you shouldn't have."
"But then, it was a
rough sea for both of us, aye?" He took Rodney's elbow in hand.
"Where's that
babbling shadow of yours?"
"Lunch."
"Then come sit with
me for a few minutes," Rodney said, pulling him off to a quiet corner.
"When are you going to be all right again?"
"I don't know. This
kind of thing, it's mall -- no, s... slow. It's slow. They'll be letting me up
for light duty in a few days, but it could be weeks or months before I'm quite
right again."
Rodney's face fell.
"I worry about you."
"I know," Carson
said quietly. "Right now, I'm a wee bit worried about me too."
Rodney took a quick look
around, then leaned forward and kissed him softly, one hand gentle in his hair.
Carson responded, tired but eager. It seemed all wasn't lost between them.
"Thanks," he
whispered when Rodney pulled back.
"I just want you to
know that this terrifies the shit out of me." Rodney looked away from him.
"So why, then?"
He caressed Rodney's cheek. "Why even try, if it's so hard for you?"
Rodney looked back, blue
eyes nervous but alight. "Maybe it'll be worth it. Maybe I can get it
right this time. You're so... I mean, I can hope, can't I?"
"Sometimes,"
Carson said, "beauty and terror are the same." He smiled at Rodney.
The man had been there for him at the most unexpected moments lately. "I
think there's a bit of beauty hidden in you, Rodney. You just don't know it
yet."
The stunned look of
disbelief on Rodney's face turned slowly into a smile.
~~fin~~
Gratuitous Gaelic:
Ciamar a tha thu? - How
are you?
Faigheam Carol! - Get
Carol!
Cha 'n eil mi Beurla
labhair - I can't speak English
mall - slow, late