Stargate Atlantis: Latitude

Chapter 8 - Recovery

John had been dimly aware of arriving at the hall, had heard Rodney's voice and seen the flickering red and yellow of firelight in the darkness.  He remembered trying to dismount and then nothing, until it seemed he had been plunged into a world of noise and irritation.  He had felt himself being pulled and pushed, tugged here and there, became suddenly aware of being naked and that someone or possibly even two or three people were washing him, with, he felt, no concern for his dignity or comfort.  When he tried to protest, the already forceful voice penetrating his sluggish consciousness became even more harshly acerbic so that he just gave in and let whoever it was do what they wanted; maybe they'd go away soon and leave him with his aching head and body and the hot flushes and cold chills that were alternating confusingly.

Then Rodney was there.  The forceful, acerbic, strident tones were Rodney's and he was as pleased to hear them directed at himself with periodic commands to lie still, drink and eat as he was to hear them echoing somewhere further away, demanding this and that and, in his fevered dreams John pictured Rodney as a circus ringmaster, his whip cracking at the heels of his performers to make them leap to do his bidding.  It was the continuation of this dream to the inevitable nightmare of clowns that woke him properly to full awareness, the garishly painted faces and clashing clothes fading from his vision as he took in his real surroundings.

It was dark and above him was a flickering light, not bright enough to hurt even his sensitive eyes.  He turned his head and there was Rodney, fast asleep, lying on his back with his mouth open.  He smacked his lips and muttered in his sleep, something about "Zelenka...power fluctuations...morons!" John started to laugh, which turned into a cough, which wouldn't stop and made his head throb.  Rodney leapt out of bed and helped John to sit up, holding a cup of water for him to drink.  John drank gratefully, then sagged against Rodney's shoulder, breathing heavily, alarmed that he couldn't support his own weight.

"Thank you," he said.

"Oh!" Rodney sounded surprised.  "Are you actually you this time? I mean awake and here with me rather than thinking you're in some crazy fairyland or wherever?"

"There were no fairies, McKay," John said indistinctly, thinking of Rodney in a ringmaster's outfit. 

Rodney fumbled on the table, saying, "You should take one of these, you still have a fever." He popped a pill into John's mouth and followed it up with more water.

"What was that?" asked John.  Rodney carefully lowered him back down.

"Well, I'm not actually sure, it was from the escape pod.  But look." He held the blister pack up.  "See here, right in the corner!"

"I can't see anything," said John, squinting.

"There," Rodney pointed.  "It's like a tiny little emoji, mouth turned down, steam coming off it, so I thought, that must be for fever!"

"Using me as a guinea pig?"

"No, of course not!  I took one first and I was okay, so I thought it'd be okay for you."

"Oh. Thanks, Rodney." John yawned and felt his eyelids drooping.  He tried to force them open again.

Rodney said, "Go back to sleep," and it seemed easiest to comply.

oOo

The next thing that woke John was the welcome smell of food; something meaty, he thought.  He opened his eyes to find Rodney setting down a tray on the table.

"Ah, good, you're awake!" he said.  "Breakfast time!  Or lunchtime, depending on how you look at it."

"What time is it?  In fact, what day is it?" asked John as Rodney helped him to sit up.