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Feb. 28th, 2005 @ 11:42 pm Dream Space
Current Mood: sicksick
It's hot in the living room. Hot, sticky Canada day, with the surfers and the skaters just outside the porch, sipping orange juice inbetween their hockey matches. He's sitting knee-to-knee with John Sheppard, chewing his bottom lip nervously. Footsteps on the floorboards above their heads.

John mumbles something he can't hear, something pained. But when he turns his head in alarm, John Sheppard is all charm and smile and charisma.

"It's all your fault, you know."

Rodney blinks at warm, slightly tanned face (all this red light, where was it coming from?) his fingernails digging into his palms in frustration.

"...What?" His voice is cracked when he speaks, his tongue rough and his throat parched. Louder footsteps, booming ever closer.

"It's your fault they fight Rodney. People do it all around you, everywhere you go. You spread hate."

Golden, sugar-sweet voice rolling over the words so nicely, a warm purr that made Rodney ache deep down inside. He wanted to worship that voice, wanted to do whatever it took to please it, wanted it to warm more for him, for him, to approve of him. Love him.

"No. It isn't," he said, as firmly as he could, even though his voice sounded weak and young, squeaking slightly like a young boy's. His face felt flushed and hot, the back of his shirt damp and clinging.

John, Mr Perfect John, with his wonderful grades, his wonderful personality, his wonderful smile and his wonderful teeth pushed against his shoulder, urging him back.

"No," he tried to say, as the arm lay across his chest, pressing down, making it hard to breathe, hard to move. No, no, no, no. His head was on fire and each thud-thud-thud outside, overhead, all around was threatening to cave in his skull.

Hotter than the sanddunes, feet slipping and sliding as he tried to run fast enough to save him, the sun in his eyes and the vice around his chest getting tighter. John was going to die and hate him for it. John was going to see just how hateful and useless and passionless he was. John...

Rodney sat up with a start, sheer terror snapping him upright before he could think. John's arm slid from off his chest and fell heavily into his lap, and Rodney began to wish he hadn't moved at all. The inside of his head was pounding like a pneumatic drill, every inch of him aching and sore. John was in bed with him, so hot that Rodney thought he could almost see the heat radiating from his back in waves. It was uncomfortable where they touched, but he lacked the energy to move.

He closed his eyes, swaying slightly in an imaginary breeze. The scratching in his head wasn't going away. He gingerly leaned over, placing the back of his hand against John's forehead, though he didn't know precisely what good that would do.

He felt like hell. No, he felt worse. And John wasn't even in any fit state to care for him, nor him the Major. There was one thing for it; he was... going to have to call for help.

Only, Carson didn't answer. He called and called, but Carson didn't answer. It wasn't like him to ignore someone at all. Rodney began to panic: what if it was something contagious? Or what if they'd not screened the planet they'd visited quite well enough.

He flicked the radio and called Elizabeth, not even knowing what time it was. "Elizabeth?" he managed, on the third attempt. "I think we have a problem..."
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Date:February 28th, 2005 11:48 pm (UTC)
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Elizabeth is in her own room when the call comes through, half-reading, half-dozing - though Rodney's voice snaps her back to reality at once.

"Rodney? What is it?"

She stands, puts down the book, ready to act.
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Date:February 28th, 2005 11:52 pm (UTC)
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"....Ill. Can't get Carson, he probably is... In John's room. Really, really..." Bad. Something. His attention's wandering, the feverish nightmare still at the edges of his vision.

"Need lock down... maybe."
Date:March 1st, 2005 12:02 am (UTC)
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A surge of worry follows these words, and Elizabeth is already at the door, throwing on her jacket as she moves. "Hold on, Rodney," she says, as reassuringly as she can manage. "I'm on my way."

Outside, and she's moving fast, back on the comm to the med-bay, ordering them to find Doctor Beckett, and to prepare for a potential emergency.

No lock-down, though. What is going on?

Finally, finally, she's at John's door, hammering on it in the hope that someone within is still conscious.
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Date:March 1st, 2005 12:09 am (UTC)
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"...Open..." Rodney calls, a little irritably. He's sitting on the side of the bed, having just about managed to slide some trousers mostly on, fiddling with the zip.

He's drenched in sweat, but shivvering, while John lies on top of the tangled covers looking even worse.

"Elizabeth," he says again, rubbing at his face. "...You shouldn't be here..."
Date:March 1st, 2005 12:22 am (UTC)
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The door opens, and there's Rodney, looking dreadful, and John, looking worse.

Not good. "There's no lock-down," Elizabeth points out. "I think I'll be safe."

Which, of course, she can't know at all. But she wants to be re-assuring. "We have to get you to the med-bay, and send a team for John."
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Date:March 1st, 2005 12:25 am (UTC)
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"...He should go first," Rodney points out, looking worried. He immediately tries to stand; hands out for balance. "Say I found you... just..."

"We have to get him to a doctor." Quickly. Because John's in better condition than him, normally, and he's hit... bad...
Date:March 1st, 2005 12:58 am (UTC)
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Elizabeth takes Rodney's hands, trying to support him. "I can't move John on my own, and you're in no condition to help," she reasons. "And if Carson's been hit too..."

The thought is quite terrifying.
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Date:March 1st, 2005 10:14 am (UTC)
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"Call them now," he says, trying not to yell at her. He would, if his voice didn't feel so weak in his chest. "Get them down here. We'll be gone by..."

He wavers a little, but doesn't fall. His eyes slowly close as he tries to find himself, tries not to start hyperventilating in panic.

He doesn't want to leave John. Not even for a minute. Anything could happen and he should...

...not ruin John's career over his stupid need to be in the same room as him when it isn't in the best intrests. "Alright," he says, subdued. The McKay I've-Made-A-Hard-Decision and It-Was-Painful look on his face. He looks around for a shirt but doesn't know if he could stand one against his skin right now.
Date:March 1st, 2005 08:57 pm (UTC)
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"Rodney. Rodney!" Elizabeth keeps fighting to keep him on track, to keep him grounded in whatever passes for rational thought in this situation.

"I'll call a team down now, and we'll head up to the med-bay in the meantime," she says, gently but firmly.

And she taps the comm, whilst Rodney looks for a shirt. "Weir to Med-Bay. Send a team to Major Sheppard's quarters at once."

Eyes full of concern, she waits for McKay to decide he's ready to go, hoping he'll be able to stay standing long enough. If he passes out on the way...
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Date:March 1st, 2005 09:16 pm (UTC)
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Eventually he manages to put his jacket over his shoulders, not bothering to put his arms in it. He has enough presence of mind to hide his own shirt. Another look at John, fighting the urge to reach out and touch, he turns to Elizabeth with a nod. Ready.
Date:March 6th, 2005 12:51 am (UTC)
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"The med-team is on its way," Elizabeth tells Rodney, to make sure he knows and won't have to worry so much - though, in all honesty, she doubts anything would reduce what he must be going through right now.

Fighting the urge to stay and try to help John until the team arrives, Elizabeth turns to the door, offering Rodney a hand in case he feels unsteady, moving into the passage outside. The distance to the infirmary suddenly seems so very great.