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Title: Semi-Indecent Exposure
Rating: PG, Gen
Characters: John, Rodney
Warnings: Boxer shorts
Summary: It's just too dang hot. A kind-of tag to Vengeance. Big hugs to karri_kln1671 for the quick beta.
Semi-Indecent Exposure
Rodney felt himself thoroughly justified in his demands. Atlantis' cooling system decides to up and die on the day the weather pushes into the hundreds – past the hundreds; Heightemeyer (had to be Heightmeyer) had dropped the hint to Elizabeth that it might be prudent if Rodney took a day off and Elizabeth relays it as an order rather than a suggestion; and it had only been three days ago that Rodney had the living snot beat out of him by a mutant wraith bug.
He was thoroughly justified; too hot to waste energy on being reasonable. If Sheppard wanted to spend his days off lying sprawled stomach-down in only his boxer shorts, he could do it when McKay wasn't around to suffer seeing it. It was too much like all those times Rodney had walked in on dormitory roommates sleeping off binges and hot dates... only with the shorts still on this time around.
Rodney slammed the chessboard onto the small coffee table in front of Sheppard's equally small couch, then dragged the table over to the bed. He was compromising only because he'd overheard Keller's stern lecture about Sheppard staying in bed except for the bathroom. Meals would be brought to him – that's how dead serious she was. Sheppard had collapsed from exhaustion during the search for surviving Tyrannens and Keller had taken it as a sign of worse things to come. She suspected he hadn't been sleeping well, and who could blame him after having escaped a horde of giant Iratus bugs. Rodney was having a few choice nightmares of his own.
“We're all suffering the cling of sweaty clothes, Sheppard. If we can't be exempt, neither can you,” Rodney said. He dumped the pieces onto the surface and arranged them. Chess was a distraction from the hiccupping systems that were currently Zelenka's to deal with. Sheppard had promised him a game the other night in exchange for Rodney changing the subject from “Zelenka wouldn't know cooling system from one of his damn pigeons” to anything else.
“My room,” Sheppard said, muffled by the pillow. “An' no one's stopping you.”
Rodney curled his lip in disgust. “Decency? Modesty? Ever heard of it? Apparently not or you wouldn't be suggesting I gallivant around Atlantis in my underwear.”
Sheppard turned his head to regard Rodney with groggy, sleep-filmed eyes. “I wasn't suggesting that.”
“Then what were you suggesting?”
“Privacy. A room you can lock?”
Rodney stilled, every muscle in his body going rigid. “Please tell me you're not suggesting here.”
Sheppard shrugged in perfect indifference. “My door's got a good lock.”
“Oh hell no!” Rodney yelped and stiffened ramrod straight. Desperate as he was to remember what it was like to be cool, he had his pride, damn it, and no way in hell would he ever strip down in the quarters of a man who was currently half naked... and that mission to M3-557 didn't count. Rodney had had every reason to assume it was a dressing room and the stupid native dress had been chafing in all the wrong places.
Sheppard chuffed. “I'm kidding, McKay. Strip to your skivvies in your own room.”
Stiffness of shock became stiffness of indignation that had Rodney ripping Sheppard's desk chair from the desk and dropping into it as hard as he could.
“Don't think I won't.” Although he already knew he wouldn't. It wasn't his thing. Maybe once or twice throughout his life, secured by privacy and in his own manhood, but never again after waking up in the nude with a female marine trapped in his head. Never. Again.
“Go for it, McKay,” Sheppard mumbled, burying his head back into the pillow.
“Well could you at least have the decency to sit up? I don't trust you not to play in your sleep.”
Sheppard sighed. “Fine.” Then pushed himself methodically up on shaky arms.
Rodney grimaced at all the muscles and bones shifting beneath sweat-slicked skin, the drops of moisture gliding down the canal of Sheppard's spine and seeming to pool in the hollows of his collarbones. Sheppard was a skinny, hairy man and right now all that chest hair looked like charcoal smeared on flesh-colored canvas.
“Seriously, Sheppard. A shirt, please? That's all I ask.”
Sheppard made the first move, a pawn. “No.”
“Why?”
“It's too damn hot.”
“Gee, really? I hadn't noticed.” Rodney scowled. “If I have to suffer, you have to suffer. So, shirt, now.”
Sheppard looked up, giving Rodney a crap-eating grin. “You're just jealous.”
“No,” Rodney gritted, glaring with all the heat and hatred his flagging energy would allow. “Your ribs stick out. It's nauseating.”
Sheppard looked down at himself, first the right side, then the left, passing his hand down his flank. “No more than they're supposed to.”
It was quite the battle for Rodney not to slam his head onto the table. He sagged with a heavy, put-upon sigh. “Sheppard -”
“It's my room, Rodney,” Sheppard said. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and folded his hands together. “Look, I know this makes you uncomfortable and I'm sorry, I am. If it's any consolation, this isn't a picnic for me, either. But last night I barely got any sleep because I felt like I was melting and stripping down to boxers helped. It's just too damn hot. And would you move already?”
Rodney did without paying any real attention to what piece he moved and where, busy regarding Sheppard with a suspicious eye. Out of all the people on Atlantis – maybe not counting Ronon – Sheppard should have been the least uncomfortable in this heat. The man had served in Afghanistan, and Rodney doubted the Air Force was blasé about their people kicking through the sand in only their underwear.
Sheppard was also sweating an awful lot for being in the semi-nude. Unless it was really just that hot. Rodney's own shirt was already soaked down to his belly and there was no doubt every inch of the material would be a darker color by the end of the day. Sheppard had nothing but his boxers to soak up the moisture.
Still... “Are you... are you okay?” Rodney asked. “I mean, are you feeling okay or anything?” During his scandalized reaction, Rodney hadn't taken notice of the fading bruises patching Sheppard's body until now: some still purple and blue, most pale greens and yellow.
“Tired,” John said, moving his knight. “Little stiff, sore.”
“Well, I imagine being pounded by giant bugs and all day search and rescue missions would have that affect. If you don't want to play -”
“It's fine,” Sheppard said. “I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. Sheets keep sticking to me.”
Rodney sneered. “TMI, Sheppard, TMI!”
“What? I just mean to my chest and back.”
“Still TMI.” Rodney finally made a more thought-out move, making up for his first move that should have gotten him checked by now. Sheppard really was tired, and Rodney had made the mistake of bringing only two bottles of water.
“I've got more in the mini-fridge,” John said.
Rodney retrieved the bottles, turning back to see Sheppard rolling and massaging his neck. When the bottles were set on the table, Sheppard grabbed his and pressed it against the side of his face. Then he drank half.
The game resumed, slow going with both men lacking the energy to put any real thought into it.
“You know,” John said after a time. “I'm glad Carson isn't around to see what Michael's been up to.” At Rodney's appalled look, he quickly stammered. “I mean to say that... he isn't... he doesn't have to witness it. I'm not glad that he's gone, that's not what I'm saying. But you know Carson. You know he wouldn't have taken it well.”
Rodney relaxed. He hadn't really thought about it before, even after the rumble with Michael's bug-men. The shock of an entire civilization gone, horror over why they were gone and the speed at which Michael had enacted his plan had kind of occupied the majority of Rodney's thoughts.
Now that it was brought up, he had to agree – John had a point. He could easily imagine how Carson would have taken it all: the guilt, the self-recrimination. Rodney wouldn't have been surprised if Carson had used the fate of the Tyranens as an excuse to hand in his resignation.
Rodney made a move. “Mm, I guess that is one pain he's spared from.”
Sheppard nodded, pressing the water bottle against his face. A full-body shudder rippled down his frame. “I hate those bugs.” Followed by another, harder shudder.
Something else Rodney hadn't taken the time to consider: Sheppard's acquaintance with the Iratus. Except he'd had no reason to. Sheppard had easily shaken off the horror of seeing the Iratus bug in the tank like a dog shaking off water, and moved on. But this was Sheppard, and just because he acted like something didn't bother him, it didn't mean he wasn't bothered.
The look he had given that bug had been long, the closest Rodney had come to ever seeing the man petrified.
“What's there to love?” Rodney said. He moved his bishop. “Check.”
Sheppard didn't notice, too busy guzzling down the rest of his water. He shook the last few drops out onto his face. A briny breeze blew, billowing the gauzy curtains of the open windows. Rodney could feel the cool mist of sea-spray and lifted his face into it. Sheppard straightened his back, closing his eyes and breathing out in temporary relief. But as soon as it was gone, his body sagged. He still had yet to notice that his king was in check.
Rodney went to get more water. When he got back, Sheppard was lying on his side giving his king a lazy nudge into the neighboring square. He snatched the water Rodney handed to him and propped himself up on one elbow to gulp half of it down. He dropped back to his side when he was done.
“Are you sure you're all right?” Rodney said. He thought Sheppard's face was looking a little flushed, but then he had yet to come across a face that wasn't.
“Lost the will to sit up,” Sheppard said, still nudging. “Just too damn hot.” He pulled his hand from the board and rubbed his face, rolling onto his back. “Think we may have to call it quits.”
Rodney nodded. “Um... yeah, sure, that's fine.” He packed the pieces back into the box, straightened, then turned and dragged his feet to the bathroom. It was too damn hot. Too hot to move, to think, to do anything except lie around in your boxers hoping for a breeze to happen by. Perhaps, just for today, he would set aside certain qualms and do just that. At the immediate moment, he switched on the sink and splashed cold water onto his face, rubbing it into his throat, the back of his neck and his hair. He finished by wetting a cool cloth to bring out to Sheppard.
“A little parting gift,” he said after coming out. He tossed the cloth to Sheppard; it landed with a wet slap on the man's bare chest.
Sheppard groaned, head rolling from side to side. He pushed the cloth away, letting it slide off him onto the bed, then he rolled onto his side so he could curl up. His next groan sounded more like a miserable whimper, and he shuddered.
Rodney gnawed his lip in concern. He took a cautious step forward, bringing his hand within reach of his comm but leaving it hovering there at the ready. For all he knew, this was nothing more than a display of Sheppard taking the heat less like a man and more like a whiny child. But then when did Sheppard go petulant over a little thing like too much heat? The man was practically all-weather resilient.
No, there was something wrong here.
Rodney took another cautious step, unsure as to why the need for caution; but when he felt the need for caution, it was a need he would listen to. It had yet to fail him and he wasn't about to let it now.
“Sheppard?” he said. “You all right?”
Sheppard's answer was a hybrid groan and whimper. When he curled tighter, he shuddered harder. Then, suddenly, in a burst of sluggish, drunken motion Sheppard struggled to his feet and staggered in the general direction of the bathroom.
He puked along the way, leaving an erratic little trail marking his path and a grimace of disgust and horror on Rodney's face.
“Oh – gosh. Sheppard...” Rodney positioned himself safely behind the other man where he could catch him if he fell while avoiding a second deluge of stomach contents. So intent on Sheppard, his boot landed on the “path” and tried to slip out from under him. And the stench... good crap, the stench! It was already permeating every corner of the room and, at this rate, they would suffocate trying not to smell it.
They ambled and shuffled into the bathroom just in time for Sheppard to drop to his knees and heave another gallon of his last meal. Not so much a gallon as a cup, gurgling from his throat in a skinny stream. Sheppard had barely begun purging and his body already started to list, forcing Rodney to hold him up and subjecting him to the writhe of constricting muscles.
And it really was just his luck: forced to touch Sheppard's sweaty skin on the hottest day with the A/Cs down and the room perfumed in boiled vomit. He was going to hold this against Sheppard until they were old men forced to live in a retirement home, and maybe beyond.
When John finished up with a couple of dry-heaves, he sagged, motionless and boneless and shivering. Rodney sighed resignedly. Something was wrong, which meant he was going to have to call in Keller, which meant he was gong to have to drag Sheppard's skinny but heavy butt back to the bed or put up with being chewed out for not having done so sooner. When poking, prodding and annoyed cajoling didn't get the man to stir, Rodney heaved another put-upon sigh and gave into wrapping both arms around Sheppard's chest from behind and lifting.
Sheppard was skinny, heavy, hairy, overheated and more slippery than a damn trout. As much as Sheppard tried to lend a hand by getting his drunken feet to move, Rodney still ended up handling most of his weight – touching chest hair and wet skin. Ribs were digging into Rodney's arms and he was sure that any moment now he was going to leave a puke trail right alongside Sheppard's.
Oh, how he hated touching people: sick, sweaty, skinny people. Sheppard owed him – all his dessert, half his pay, his first born... well, maybe not his first born... no more of those stupid gold games, yeah! No more stupid golf period and no more dragging him to that hell mislabeled as physical training. He didn't need it. He was lugging Sheppard around just fine as proof.
Rodney dropped Sheppard onto the bed as soon as they reached it and, being the good friend that he was, lifted and shoved the man's legs to join the rest of him. Sheppard curled back onto his side, shuddering and moaning. He looked like crap – worse than crap; pale, wet and the poster child for utter misery. Contact with sweaty skin forgotten, Rodney bustled about the room rewetting cloths that he placed on John's forehead and neck then dragging the trash can within easy puking distance. It was while he was digging up more water that he called Keller. He listed the visible symptoms as he coaxed Sheppard to drink.
“He's puking, he's sweating and he's warm. What more do you want?” Rodney sighed, took Sheppard's wrist between his fingers and pressed while looking at his watch. “It's fast,” he stated He frowned. “Rapid. But he's sweating. That's a good sign, right? It means he isn't dehydrated?”
Rather than answer over the comm, Keller showed up and answered in person. “Yes, it's a good sign.” Rodney caught a glimpse of a medical team waiting outside, and his heart shot into his throat. He pointed at them.
“Then why -?”
“Just a precaution,” Keller assured. “Hopefully unnecessary but it never hurts to have them handy.” She listened to John's heart, then his breathing through the back. She took his temperature, pressure, blinded him with a pain – pen - light and smiled in satisfaction when he groaned plaintively and pulled away.
“Conscious, good. Heart rates a little high as is his temperature, but his lungs are clear. I think he just has the flu and the heat's making it worse.” But just in case, she filled a vial with Sheppard's blood.
Rodney swallowed. “Shouldn't he be in the infirmary, then? This heat and puking? He'll dehydrate.”
Keller was already on it. She readied an I.V. with the help of a nurse while tossing instructions to the medics waiting in the wings. “He's better off here,” she said. “The infirmary's practically a sauna and at least here he has space and open windows. I think he'll be more comfortable in his own room, anyways.”
Another nurse appeared bearing a cooling blanket that Keller and the first nurse tucked around John. “We'll check on him every twenty minutes but let us know if things look like they're changing for the worst.”
Rodney stiffened. Him? “ Me? No, wait, I can't baby sit I have work-”
At Keller's stern look, he mentally and verbally shifted. “Resting, right. I'm supposed to be resting.”
“Which you can do here just as well as anywhere else,” Keller said. Rodney glared at her, adding her to his mental list of people who so owed him.
“Fine,” he huffed. “But I wave the right to leave for stuff – food stuff, computer stuff...”
“That's fine, as long as you come back,” Keller said, less stern but still inflecting a little force. Finished, she stood, placed her hand on Rodney's shoulder and smiled. “And thank you. I'll owe you for it.”
“Pain medication, no matter how minor the pain,” Rodney said quickly. No time like the present to milk a few favors. He snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait, bring me lunch. And have someone else clean up Sheppard's little surprise before it asphyxiates us all.”
“I doubt it'll come to that, but no problem. And I'll bring you a nice ham sandwich.”
“With mustard,” Rodney said. “And iced tea with lots and lots of ice.”
Keller, giving him an indulgent smile, left without verbally sealing the deal to come back with the requested food. Rodney slumped in his seat and stared hard at Sheppard.
“You do know how to ruin a man's day off,” he muttered.
He heard Sheppard snort. “Would've ruined it... by working... without Kel'r knowin'.”
“I would not! Besides, she always finds out. I think she's spying on us, maybe has cameras all over the place. You should check your shower when you’re no longer an invalid.
Sheppard snorted again and chuckled lightly. “You don't have to stay.”
“Yeah,” Rodney said, crossing his arms, only to drop them when the sweat popped from his skin faster. “I do. I'm here, I'm bored, I'm otherwise useless until Keller stops pulling a nurse Ratchett on me. Might as well at least attempt to do something minutely productive.”
There followed a minute of silence, eventually broken by a long exhale that managed to sound more woe-begone and grudging than vocal tones and words ever could.
Sheppard said, haltingly, “If you want... you can... you know. You can make yourself more comfortable.”
“You mean strip down to my underwear.”
Sheppard exhaled again. “Yeah.”
“No thanks.”
“Don't let yourself overheat, McKay.”
“I'm good. Keller's bringing me iced-tea.”
“Lucky bastard.” John sniffed and sneered. “What's that smell?”
“Your inability to hold it in until you reach a toilet, and this morning's breakfast. Someone's supposed to drop by to clean it up.”
“Oh,” John sighed as though melting. Rodney studied his face and noticed it wasn't quite so wet – almost dry, in fact, except along the hairline. Sheppard looked as sick as he was, with dark skin under his eyes, flushed cheeks, sallow complexion and all of it joining forces to make his face seem pinched and sunken.
“Sorry... for making you go through that,” John slurred. “Next time I'll keep a T-shirt or somethin' on.”
“Go to sleep,” Rodney said, then added more kindly, “and, you know, I'll be here and... such. Let me know if you need anything.” He plucked his shirt from his sticky chest. Lugging Sheppard around had worked up ten times more sweat and he could feel it tickling down his ribs. Where the hell was Keller with that iced tea?
“Thans' M'kay,” Sheppard breathed.
Rodney grabbed the nearest magazine and used it to fan himself, fat lot of good that it did. “Whatever. Go to sleep.”
Sheppard's breathing evened out.
Five minutes later, someone finally cleaned up the mess. Another five minutes later and Keller walked in with sandwich and iced-tea in hand to find Rodney sitting on Sheppard's couch by the window, flipping through a magazine and shirtless but still retaining his pants because, damn it, he had his pride.
He glared at her gaping face. “What?” Grabbed the food. “Too damn hot not to.” And went back to reading.
Twenty minutes later, the A/C hummed back to life.
The End
Rating: PG, Gen
Characters: John, Rodney
Warnings: Boxer shorts
Summary: It's just too dang hot. A kind-of tag to Vengeance. Big hugs to karri_kln1671 for the quick beta.
Rodney felt himself thoroughly justified in his demands. Atlantis' cooling system decides to up and die on the day the weather pushes into the hundreds – past the hundreds; Heightemeyer (had to be Heightmeyer) had dropped the hint to Elizabeth that it might be prudent if Rodney took a day off and Elizabeth relays it as an order rather than a suggestion; and it had only been three days ago that Rodney had the living snot beat out of him by a mutant wraith bug.
He was thoroughly justified; too hot to waste energy on being reasonable. If Sheppard wanted to spend his days off lying sprawled stomach-down in only his boxer shorts, he could do it when McKay wasn't around to suffer seeing it. It was too much like all those times Rodney had walked in on dormitory roommates sleeping off binges and hot dates... only with the shorts still on this time around.
Rodney slammed the chessboard onto the small coffee table in front of Sheppard's equally small couch, then dragged the table over to the bed. He was compromising only because he'd overheard Keller's stern lecture about Sheppard staying in bed except for the bathroom. Meals would be brought to him – that's how dead serious she was. Sheppard had collapsed from exhaustion during the search for surviving Tyrannens and Keller had taken it as a sign of worse things to come. She suspected he hadn't been sleeping well, and who could blame him after having escaped a horde of giant Iratus bugs. Rodney was having a few choice nightmares of his own.
“We're all suffering the cling of sweaty clothes, Sheppard. If we can't be exempt, neither can you,” Rodney said. He dumped the pieces onto the surface and arranged them. Chess was a distraction from the hiccupping systems that were currently Zelenka's to deal with. Sheppard had promised him a game the other night in exchange for Rodney changing the subject from “Zelenka wouldn't know cooling system from one of his damn pigeons” to anything else.
“My room,” Sheppard said, muffled by the pillow. “An' no one's stopping you.”
Rodney curled his lip in disgust. “Decency? Modesty? Ever heard of it? Apparently not or you wouldn't be suggesting I gallivant around Atlantis in my underwear.”
Sheppard turned his head to regard Rodney with groggy, sleep-filmed eyes. “I wasn't suggesting that.”
“Then what were you suggesting?”
“Privacy. A room you can lock?”
Rodney stilled, every muscle in his body going rigid. “Please tell me you're not suggesting here.”
Sheppard shrugged in perfect indifference. “My door's got a good lock.”
“Oh hell no!” Rodney yelped and stiffened ramrod straight. Desperate as he was to remember what it was like to be cool, he had his pride, damn it, and no way in hell would he ever strip down in the quarters of a man who was currently half naked... and that mission to M3-557 didn't count. Rodney had had every reason to assume it was a dressing room and the stupid native dress had been chafing in all the wrong places.
Sheppard chuffed. “I'm kidding, McKay. Strip to your skivvies in your own room.”
Stiffness of shock became stiffness of indignation that had Rodney ripping Sheppard's desk chair from the desk and dropping into it as hard as he could.
“Don't think I won't.” Although he already knew he wouldn't. It wasn't his thing. Maybe once or twice throughout his life, secured by privacy and in his own manhood, but never again after waking up in the nude with a female marine trapped in his head. Never. Again.
“Go for it, McKay,” Sheppard mumbled, burying his head back into the pillow.
“Well could you at least have the decency to sit up? I don't trust you not to play in your sleep.”
Sheppard sighed. “Fine.” Then pushed himself methodically up on shaky arms.
Rodney grimaced at all the muscles and bones shifting beneath sweat-slicked skin, the drops of moisture gliding down the canal of Sheppard's spine and seeming to pool in the hollows of his collarbones. Sheppard was a skinny, hairy man and right now all that chest hair looked like charcoal smeared on flesh-colored canvas.
“Seriously, Sheppard. A shirt, please? That's all I ask.”
Sheppard made the first move, a pawn. “No.”
“Why?”
“It's too damn hot.”
“Gee, really? I hadn't noticed.” Rodney scowled. “If I have to suffer, you have to suffer. So, shirt, now.”
Sheppard looked up, giving Rodney a crap-eating grin. “You're just jealous.”
“No,” Rodney gritted, glaring with all the heat and hatred his flagging energy would allow. “Your ribs stick out. It's nauseating.”
Sheppard looked down at himself, first the right side, then the left, passing his hand down his flank. “No more than they're supposed to.”
It was quite the battle for Rodney not to slam his head onto the table. He sagged with a heavy, put-upon sigh. “Sheppard -”
“It's my room, Rodney,” Sheppard said. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and folded his hands together. “Look, I know this makes you uncomfortable and I'm sorry, I am. If it's any consolation, this isn't a picnic for me, either. But last night I barely got any sleep because I felt like I was melting and stripping down to boxers helped. It's just too damn hot. And would you move already?”
Rodney did without paying any real attention to what piece he moved and where, busy regarding Sheppard with a suspicious eye. Out of all the people on Atlantis – maybe not counting Ronon – Sheppard should have been the least uncomfortable in this heat. The man had served in Afghanistan, and Rodney doubted the Air Force was blasé about their people kicking through the sand in only their underwear.
Sheppard was also sweating an awful lot for being in the semi-nude. Unless it was really just that hot. Rodney's own shirt was already soaked down to his belly and there was no doubt every inch of the material would be a darker color by the end of the day. Sheppard had nothing but his boxers to soak up the moisture.
Still... “Are you... are you okay?” Rodney asked. “I mean, are you feeling okay or anything?” During his scandalized reaction, Rodney hadn't taken notice of the fading bruises patching Sheppard's body until now: some still purple and blue, most pale greens and yellow.
“Tired,” John said, moving his knight. “Little stiff, sore.”
“Well, I imagine being pounded by giant bugs and all day search and rescue missions would have that affect. If you don't want to play -”
“It's fine,” Sheppard said. “I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. Sheets keep sticking to me.”
Rodney sneered. “TMI, Sheppard, TMI!”
“What? I just mean to my chest and back.”
“Still TMI.” Rodney finally made a more thought-out move, making up for his first move that should have gotten him checked by now. Sheppard really was tired, and Rodney had made the mistake of bringing only two bottles of water.
“I've got more in the mini-fridge,” John said.
Rodney retrieved the bottles, turning back to see Sheppard rolling and massaging his neck. When the bottles were set on the table, Sheppard grabbed his and pressed it against the side of his face. Then he drank half.
The game resumed, slow going with both men lacking the energy to put any real thought into it.
“You know,” John said after a time. “I'm glad Carson isn't around to see what Michael's been up to.” At Rodney's appalled look, he quickly stammered. “I mean to say that... he isn't... he doesn't have to witness it. I'm not glad that he's gone, that's not what I'm saying. But you know Carson. You know he wouldn't have taken it well.”
Rodney relaxed. He hadn't really thought about it before, even after the rumble with Michael's bug-men. The shock of an entire civilization gone, horror over why they were gone and the speed at which Michael had enacted his plan had kind of occupied the majority of Rodney's thoughts.
Now that it was brought up, he had to agree – John had a point. He could easily imagine how Carson would have taken it all: the guilt, the self-recrimination. Rodney wouldn't have been surprised if Carson had used the fate of the Tyranens as an excuse to hand in his resignation.
Rodney made a move. “Mm, I guess that is one pain he's spared from.”
Sheppard nodded, pressing the water bottle against his face. A full-body shudder rippled down his frame. “I hate those bugs.” Followed by another, harder shudder.
Something else Rodney hadn't taken the time to consider: Sheppard's acquaintance with the Iratus. Except he'd had no reason to. Sheppard had easily shaken off the horror of seeing the Iratus bug in the tank like a dog shaking off water, and moved on. But this was Sheppard, and just because he acted like something didn't bother him, it didn't mean he wasn't bothered.
The look he had given that bug had been long, the closest Rodney had come to ever seeing the man petrified.
“What's there to love?” Rodney said. He moved his bishop. “Check.”
Sheppard didn't notice, too busy guzzling down the rest of his water. He shook the last few drops out onto his face. A briny breeze blew, billowing the gauzy curtains of the open windows. Rodney could feel the cool mist of sea-spray and lifted his face into it. Sheppard straightened his back, closing his eyes and breathing out in temporary relief. But as soon as it was gone, his body sagged. He still had yet to notice that his king was in check.
Rodney went to get more water. When he got back, Sheppard was lying on his side giving his king a lazy nudge into the neighboring square. He snatched the water Rodney handed to him and propped himself up on one elbow to gulp half of it down. He dropped back to his side when he was done.
“Are you sure you're all right?” Rodney said. He thought Sheppard's face was looking a little flushed, but then he had yet to come across a face that wasn't.
“Lost the will to sit up,” Sheppard said, still nudging. “Just too damn hot.” He pulled his hand from the board and rubbed his face, rolling onto his back. “Think we may have to call it quits.”
Rodney nodded. “Um... yeah, sure, that's fine.” He packed the pieces back into the box, straightened, then turned and dragged his feet to the bathroom. It was too damn hot. Too hot to move, to think, to do anything except lie around in your boxers hoping for a breeze to happen by. Perhaps, just for today, he would set aside certain qualms and do just that. At the immediate moment, he switched on the sink and splashed cold water onto his face, rubbing it into his throat, the back of his neck and his hair. He finished by wetting a cool cloth to bring out to Sheppard.
“A little parting gift,” he said after coming out. He tossed the cloth to Sheppard; it landed with a wet slap on the man's bare chest.
Sheppard groaned, head rolling from side to side. He pushed the cloth away, letting it slide off him onto the bed, then he rolled onto his side so he could curl up. His next groan sounded more like a miserable whimper, and he shuddered.
Rodney gnawed his lip in concern. He took a cautious step forward, bringing his hand within reach of his comm but leaving it hovering there at the ready. For all he knew, this was nothing more than a display of Sheppard taking the heat less like a man and more like a whiny child. But then when did Sheppard go petulant over a little thing like too much heat? The man was practically all-weather resilient.
No, there was something wrong here.
Rodney took another cautious step, unsure as to why the need for caution; but when he felt the need for caution, it was a need he would listen to. It had yet to fail him and he wasn't about to let it now.
“Sheppard?” he said. “You all right?”
Sheppard's answer was a hybrid groan and whimper. When he curled tighter, he shuddered harder. Then, suddenly, in a burst of sluggish, drunken motion Sheppard struggled to his feet and staggered in the general direction of the bathroom.
He puked along the way, leaving an erratic little trail marking his path and a grimace of disgust and horror on Rodney's face.
“Oh – gosh. Sheppard...” Rodney positioned himself safely behind the other man where he could catch him if he fell while avoiding a second deluge of stomach contents. So intent on Sheppard, his boot landed on the “path” and tried to slip out from under him. And the stench... good crap, the stench! It was already permeating every corner of the room and, at this rate, they would suffocate trying not to smell it.
They ambled and shuffled into the bathroom just in time for Sheppard to drop to his knees and heave another gallon of his last meal. Not so much a gallon as a cup, gurgling from his throat in a skinny stream. Sheppard had barely begun purging and his body already started to list, forcing Rodney to hold him up and subjecting him to the writhe of constricting muscles.
And it really was just his luck: forced to touch Sheppard's sweaty skin on the hottest day with the A/Cs down and the room perfumed in boiled vomit. He was going to hold this against Sheppard until they were old men forced to live in a retirement home, and maybe beyond.
When John finished up with a couple of dry-heaves, he sagged, motionless and boneless and shivering. Rodney sighed resignedly. Something was wrong, which meant he was going to have to call in Keller, which meant he was gong to have to drag Sheppard's skinny but heavy butt back to the bed or put up with being chewed out for not having done so sooner. When poking, prodding and annoyed cajoling didn't get the man to stir, Rodney heaved another put-upon sigh and gave into wrapping both arms around Sheppard's chest from behind and lifting.
Sheppard was skinny, heavy, hairy, overheated and more slippery than a damn trout. As much as Sheppard tried to lend a hand by getting his drunken feet to move, Rodney still ended up handling most of his weight – touching chest hair and wet skin. Ribs were digging into Rodney's arms and he was sure that any moment now he was going to leave a puke trail right alongside Sheppard's.
Oh, how he hated touching people: sick, sweaty, skinny people. Sheppard owed him – all his dessert, half his pay, his first born... well, maybe not his first born... no more of those stupid gold games, yeah! No more stupid golf period and no more dragging him to that hell mislabeled as physical training. He didn't need it. He was lugging Sheppard around just fine as proof.
Rodney dropped Sheppard onto the bed as soon as they reached it and, being the good friend that he was, lifted and shoved the man's legs to join the rest of him. Sheppard curled back onto his side, shuddering and moaning. He looked like crap – worse than crap; pale, wet and the poster child for utter misery. Contact with sweaty skin forgotten, Rodney bustled about the room rewetting cloths that he placed on John's forehead and neck then dragging the trash can within easy puking distance. It was while he was digging up more water that he called Keller. He listed the visible symptoms as he coaxed Sheppard to drink.
“He's puking, he's sweating and he's warm. What more do you want?” Rodney sighed, took Sheppard's wrist between his fingers and pressed while looking at his watch. “It's fast,” he stated He frowned. “Rapid. But he's sweating. That's a good sign, right? It means he isn't dehydrated?”
Rather than answer over the comm, Keller showed up and answered in person. “Yes, it's a good sign.” Rodney caught a glimpse of a medical team waiting outside, and his heart shot into his throat. He pointed at them.
“Then why -?”
“Just a precaution,” Keller assured. “Hopefully unnecessary but it never hurts to have them handy.” She listened to John's heart, then his breathing through the back. She took his temperature, pressure, blinded him with a pain – pen - light and smiled in satisfaction when he groaned plaintively and pulled away.
“Conscious, good. Heart rates a little high as is his temperature, but his lungs are clear. I think he just has the flu and the heat's making it worse.” But just in case, she filled a vial with Sheppard's blood.
Rodney swallowed. “Shouldn't he be in the infirmary, then? This heat and puking? He'll dehydrate.”
Keller was already on it. She readied an I.V. with the help of a nurse while tossing instructions to the medics waiting in the wings. “He's better off here,” she said. “The infirmary's practically a sauna and at least here he has space and open windows. I think he'll be more comfortable in his own room, anyways.”
Another nurse appeared bearing a cooling blanket that Keller and the first nurse tucked around John. “We'll check on him every twenty minutes but let us know if things look like they're changing for the worst.”
Rodney stiffened. Him? “ Me? No, wait, I can't baby sit I have work-”
At Keller's stern look, he mentally and verbally shifted. “Resting, right. I'm supposed to be resting.”
“Which you can do here just as well as anywhere else,” Keller said. Rodney glared at her, adding her to his mental list of people who so owed him.
“Fine,” he huffed. “But I wave the right to leave for stuff – food stuff, computer stuff...”
“That's fine, as long as you come back,” Keller said, less stern but still inflecting a little force. Finished, she stood, placed her hand on Rodney's shoulder and smiled. “And thank you. I'll owe you for it.”
“Pain medication, no matter how minor the pain,” Rodney said quickly. No time like the present to milk a few favors. He snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait, bring me lunch. And have someone else clean up Sheppard's little surprise before it asphyxiates us all.”
“I doubt it'll come to that, but no problem. And I'll bring you a nice ham sandwich.”
“With mustard,” Rodney said. “And iced tea with lots and lots of ice.”
Keller, giving him an indulgent smile, left without verbally sealing the deal to come back with the requested food. Rodney slumped in his seat and stared hard at Sheppard.
“You do know how to ruin a man's day off,” he muttered.
He heard Sheppard snort. “Would've ruined it... by working... without Kel'r knowin'.”
“I would not! Besides, she always finds out. I think she's spying on us, maybe has cameras all over the place. You should check your shower when you’re no longer an invalid.
Sheppard snorted again and chuckled lightly. “You don't have to stay.”
“Yeah,” Rodney said, crossing his arms, only to drop them when the sweat popped from his skin faster. “I do. I'm here, I'm bored, I'm otherwise useless until Keller stops pulling a nurse Ratchett on me. Might as well at least attempt to do something minutely productive.”
There followed a minute of silence, eventually broken by a long exhale that managed to sound more woe-begone and grudging than vocal tones and words ever could.
Sheppard said, haltingly, “If you want... you can... you know. You can make yourself more comfortable.”
“You mean strip down to my underwear.”
Sheppard exhaled again. “Yeah.”
“No thanks.”
“Don't let yourself overheat, McKay.”
“I'm good. Keller's bringing me iced-tea.”
“Lucky bastard.” John sniffed and sneered. “What's that smell?”
“Your inability to hold it in until you reach a toilet, and this morning's breakfast. Someone's supposed to drop by to clean it up.”
“Oh,” John sighed as though melting. Rodney studied his face and noticed it wasn't quite so wet – almost dry, in fact, except along the hairline. Sheppard looked as sick as he was, with dark skin under his eyes, flushed cheeks, sallow complexion and all of it joining forces to make his face seem pinched and sunken.
“Sorry... for making you go through that,” John slurred. “Next time I'll keep a T-shirt or somethin' on.”
“Go to sleep,” Rodney said, then added more kindly, “and, you know, I'll be here and... such. Let me know if you need anything.” He plucked his shirt from his sticky chest. Lugging Sheppard around had worked up ten times more sweat and he could feel it tickling down his ribs. Where the hell was Keller with that iced tea?
“Thans' M'kay,” Sheppard breathed.
Rodney grabbed the nearest magazine and used it to fan himself, fat lot of good that it did. “Whatever. Go to sleep.”
Sheppard's breathing evened out.
Five minutes later, someone finally cleaned up the mess. Another five minutes later and Keller walked in with sandwich and iced-tea in hand to find Rodney sitting on Sheppard's couch by the window, flipping through a magazine and shirtless but still retaining his pants because, damn it, he had his pride.
He glared at her gaping face. “What?” Grabbed the food. “Too damn hot not to.” And went back to reading.
Twenty minutes later, the A/C hummed back to life.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 02:47 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-03 01:31 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 02:53 am (UTC)From:Grazia!
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Date: 2008-08-03 01:33 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 02:57 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-03 01:34 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 03:10 am (UTC)From:*claps*
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Date: 2008-08-03 01:35 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 03:35 am (UTC)From:(Small note: There's a typo here -- gold instead of golf-- "Sheppard owed him – all his dessert, half his pay, his first born... well, maybe not his first born... no more of those stupid gold games, yeah!")
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Date: 2008-08-03 01:36 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 03:36 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-03 01:37 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 03:38 am (UTC)From:Poor sick John! Poor, Rodney. I was half expecting him to run from the room in fear of the vomit. LOL But, he's a good friend and won't leave a man behind. Even in the event of bodily fluids!
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Date: 2008-08-03 01:39 am (UTC)From:Yes, Rodney is a good friend. But I definitely see a lack of desserts in Sheppard's future ;)
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Date: 2008-07-29 04:11 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-03 01:41 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 04:23 am (UTC)From:Poor McKay. And John with the Iratus bug squick!
Great story!
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Date: 2008-08-03 01:42 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 04:39 am (UTC)From:Great fic for summer. Makes me very thankful for my A/C. :)
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Date: 2008-08-03 01:44 am (UTC)From:Yes, if there is one thing we learn form this story, it's to never take the A/C for granted;)
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Date: 2008-07-29 04:39 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-03 01:45 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 10:52 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-03 01:46 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 11:54 am (UTC)From:I did like the irony of talking about Carson here, its cool to see how reflective fics can be when they are dusted off...nice mix of humor with this one.
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Date: 2008-08-03 01:56 am (UTC)From:This story tried to go in all kinds of directions, but one thing was a must: Carson had to be mentioned. I had actually wanted the episode to make mention of how he might have taken Micheal's experiment (but, of course, there wasn't exactly any room for it in the show). It made up part of the inspiration for this fic. The other part was how Rodney would react to Sheppard in his boxers, without any of those slashy undertones getting in the way ;)
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Date: 2008-07-29 01:01 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-03 01:57 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 02:50 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-03 01:58 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 02:58 pm (UTC)From:Thank you
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Date: 2008-08-03 01:59 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 04:27 pm (UTC)From:You rock as always!
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Date: 2008-08-03 01:59 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-30 10:51 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-03 02:01 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-03 06:23 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-06 01:37 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-09-10 02:54 am (UTC)From:Poor Rodney, him be hot and miserable.
\0\ \0/ /0/ YES! I happy happy too. yes! \0\ \0/ /0/
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Date: 2009-01-25 06:51 pm (UTC)From: