AN: NebbyJ asked if Derek could be borrowed for future fics; as far as I'm concerned, sure! But be warned…both he and Shelley Galas are based on real people Bastet and I know, so play nice with them…

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, don't sue.
Explosion

By Kerr Avon

Chapter 10 - There's No Place Like Home

John had always liked visiting his grandfather's farm in the summer; it always seemed like home. Once the chores were done and the breakfast dishes cleared, he had the rest of the day stretched before him like an empty canvass ready to paint with adventure. Some days he'd pretend to be a pirate, while on others he'd make believe he was Captain Kirk (not that he'd ever admit that to his friends back home). Still others, like today, he'd just lay by the stream and let his mind wander wherever it wanted. His eyes closed, he listened to the burbling of the water, imagining that he could actually hear voices…

"Ah told ye before, Rodney, that I'll let you know the minute he shows signs of wakin'."

"Yes, well, it's just that it's been three days!"

"But only thirty minutes since you last checked on him."

"THERE! His eyelid twitched!"

"Please lower your voice; ah have a concussion too, ye know."

Wait a minute; that didn't sound right. Streams weren't called 'Rodney'. He didn't even know a 'Rodney'!…Or did he?…Something niggled at the back of his mind, but the more he tried to catch it, the more elusive it became. John decided to go back to sleep and let it come to him.

The last three days had been just as unpleasant as Derek had feared; Sheppard wouldn't wake up, Rodney kept demanding to leave, and Beckett wanted to take over the care of everybody, including himself. The one bright point had been releasing Ford after an uneventful overnight observation, with strict instructions to take it easy for the next three days; instructions that he felt relatively confident that the young man would follow.

McKay's back had cleaned up nicely, albeit painfully, and within 24 hours he was discharged on oral antibiotics and pain meds. Surprisingly, now that he could officially go, McKay kept hovering around like a lost spirit, inquiring several times an hour as to both Beckett and Sheppard's condition. Derek ultimately had to restrict the man to one visit per shift, or the nurses would kill him.

After 48 hours of back-seat doctoring by Dr. Beckett, Dr. Lawrence was torn between throttling the man or sedating him into next week. It was with a great deal of reticence that he chose a third option, and allowed Carson to oversee Sheppard's care on the third day. However, he drew the line at Beckett treating himself, and made it clear that if his own condition began to worsen, he would be returned to bedrest and Derek would reassume Sheppard's care. Surreptitiously Dr. Lawrence made certain that the nurses called him for most of the daily minutiae, particularly when Beckett was dozing, but asked Carson to make most of the large decisions. That way, Beckett could 'manage' his patient without exhausting himself.

At least, that was the theory. However, Rodney seemed to think that Carson would be more amenable to his innumerable visits and questions than Dr. Lawrence had been, and was showing up with increasing frequency. Watching McKay berate his clearly exhausted and headache-ridden superior from across the ward, Derek decided that the time had come to intervene. Snatching the largest needle and syringe he could find, he drew up 10 cc of café-au-lait from a nearby mug and displayed the instrument prominently as he sauntered over to join the conversation.

"Rodney, Ah promise that ye'll be the first Ah call when he starts to wake. Now, please…"

"Doctor McKay! Just the man I wanted to see," Derek interrupted. He noted Carson's fleeting expression of relief and steeled his resolve as Rodney turned around to face him. Holding the syringe upright, he made a show of squirting a small fountain of the murky brown liquid out the top of the fourteen gauge needle, just like they did in all those Hollywood movies. "With all your cuts, it suddenly occurred to me that, despite the vaccinations we received before we deployed, a tetanus booster might not be amiss…" He trailed off suggestively as McKay paled and broke into a sweat.

"Umm, yeah, sure, umm, butrightnowIhavetogo." The last part of the sentence was spoken so quickly that it emerged as a single word, slurred as the scientist sprinted out the door. The two doctors stared after the retreating form for a moment, then collapsed into hysterics. Beckett was laughing so hard that Derek had to ease him into a nearby chair before he lost bladder control.

When they had finally calmed enough to be somewhat coherent, Carson wiped his watering eyes. "Whatever do ye have in that syringe, mon?" he snickered. "We won't be seein' Rodney for days."

"Coffee," replied Derek smugly.

Beckett shook his head in wonderment. "Then ye'd best not be tellin' him, or he might just take ye up on it next time."

"Oh, I doubt it." Dr. Lawrence smiled and placed the syringe on a nearby countertop in easy view. "I'll just leave this here for the next time Dr. McKay is driving you crazy."

"Thank ye, but I suspect he won't be back until I call him."

Derek nodded. "Good. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, you've done plenty. Thank you." Beckett smiled gratefully and turned to examine his patient.

John hurt. There was something poking his right side so hard that it felt like he was being stabbed with each breath. 'No way can I nap with this stick in my side. Maybe I should roll over.' Yet he couldn't seem to manage it. Allowing himself a little more awareness, he realized that he didn't seem to be laying on the accumulated pine needles beneath that old fir at Grandpa's place; in fact, the reports coming in from most of his body indicated that, except for the stick, he was lying in a bed. The smell was all wrong as well. It was filtered…medicinal. The air didn't smell of sun-washed summer days at all. And that sound…he concentrated. 'Nope. Definitely NOT the trout stream…more like…snoring?' His eyes flew open, and he stared at the ceiling in momentary confusion.

The lights were all off, making it difficult to see…he rolled his eyes carefully around as he tried to take in his surroundings in the dimness. IV pole…monitors…low-pitched beeping…a hospital…definitely a hospital. Slowly turning towards the noise, he made out a familiar Scotsman in rumpled scrubs sprawled in a nearby chair fast asleep.

"Carson?" he murmured to himself, trying to remember. In a rush it all came back to him; the Ancient device, the attempted rescue, the C-4, the second explosion… "Atlantis!" Of course. He was home.

"Well, nice to see you've decided to join us," commented a pleasant voice beside his other ear. He turned to see the fair-skinned blonde nurse with the gentle Southern accent checking his IV fluid. "How are you feeling?"

"Like there's a spear in my side." He attempted to maneuver so that he could see the offending object, but couldn't quite manage.

"That's either the broken ribs or the chest tube. Would you like a shot for the pain?"

"In a minute. What happened? Clearly we were rescued."

Shelley smiled. "I'd say so. I'll let Dr. Beckett fill you in on the details."

"Oh, no. Don't wake him. He probably needs his sleep."

"Trust me, he'll sleep better once I tell him you're awake." She paused thoughtfully. "Maybe I can even convince him to sleep in a bed…"

As the nurse had predicted, Beckett was overjoyed with Sheppard's return to consciousness. After a few questions to establish mental status and orientation, Carson was delighted to provide him with a summary of events subsequent to his head injury. While it took only a few minutes, both men were yawning by the end of the story, and nurse Galas even managed to tuck Carson into a nearby hospital bed for the remainder of the night.

The next morning saw a flurry of activity. McKay was the first well-wisher to arrive, followed closely by Dr. Weir. John found it interesting that Rodney's tirade on not having been summoned the night before was cut short by Carson's pointed visual examination of something sitting on a nearby counter which was just out of his own line of sight. He made a mental note to check it out later; it could be something useful.

It was a few days before his lung had healed enough to remove the chest tube; another several before he was released to return to his quarters. Slowly sinking onto his own bunk he sighed, remembering sunlight and fishing streams. Still, it was the people that made the place, and Atlantis was full of people that cared about him. Rolling onto his back, he began humming a favorite childhood tune, then chuckled as his mind rewrote the words. In an amused tenor, he sang the chorus aloud: "No matter the galaxy, there's no place like home."

Yep. Home.

FINIS

AN: Well, another fic finished. Hope you liked it! Thanks for all the moral support and the great feedback; hope to write another soon…In the meantime, if you haven't read my other stories, give them a try - you might like what you see!

Anybody else headed to Mediawest this May? If so, I'll see you there! (Oh, and the cat may have used up 6 of its 9 lives, but he's fine!)