A/N: Is it strange that the title doesn't really fit all that well into the story? I could change it, but I probably won't. I'm usually lazy about stuff like that. Although, I suppose perhaps metaphorically, at least, the title could be construed as relevant. I hope you guys are happy with my ending. It's a little short, but it's sweet. At least, I think so.
A medication-induced veil of mist seemed to hang across his vision as Carson struggled to lift his heavy eyelids. Searing pain wracked his entire body, especially his chest. It took an extraordinary effort just to breathe through it. Another extraordinary effort was expended in the process of coordinating his muscles enough to turn his head to either side. Looking around, he could see a lot of occupied beds lined up next to his. Radek Zelenka and the marine that he had a vague recollection of tossing into a wall were resting in their beds at either side of him. Lifting his head, he spied Dr. Weir recovering not far away, and Rodney McKay was lying in the bed across from him.
A thick film of sweat still dripped from his face into the bedsheets as Rodney twisted and pulled against the heavy-duty restraints holding him down onto the gurney, terrified and in pain. Carson's heart went out to him. He remembered going through a similar circumstance only a few days before. Letting out a heavy and painful sigh, he managed to catch the attention of someone else whose presence he hadn't noticed.
"Hey, Doc," Colonel Sheppard greeted him with feigned cheerfulness. "Glad to see you're awake."
He could do no more than blink at him in return.
Stealing a glance over at Rodney, John continued speaking softly. "Rodney's in pretty bad shape; he's still waiting to get his first real dose of the serum. They're working on making more, but it's slow going. I'm afraid you're both probably going to feel pretty lousy until they get the stuff into full production."
Carson groaned with the strain of trying to speak. "It hurts."
"I'm sure it does," he assured him. "Biro just brought you out of surgery a little while ago to remove some bullet fragments that were still lodged in your chest. I'll see if I can find her and ask her to give you some more pain medication."
Barely managing a nod in response, his eyelids were beginning to droop closed again.
"Listen, Carson," John began carefully. "Before you go back to sleep, I need you to remember something for me."
Carson pried his eyes back open and waited expectantly.
John swallowed and took a deep breath. "Where are the others?"
"Others?" Carson's brow furrowed with confusion.
"The others that you kidnapped and infected," he elaborated. "Where are they?"
Carson couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. His awareness was leaving him, but he managed to force himself to mumble a response. "Sec'n twen'-eight north... third level... through the wa'er."
"Section twenty-eight?" John repeated, looking for confirmation, but Carson was already asleep.
It was a full week later before they finally released him from the infirmary and only after he had threatened to fire every single one of them if they didn't approve his discharge. He had been given a polite smile at the idle threat, even though he really had meant it at the time. For his staff, though, it only proved that the old euphemism of doctors always making the worst patients was still true.
But now Carson wanted to be alone. If he had gone back to work in the infirmary, it would have meant he'd have to oversee the recovery of the rest of the people that Sheppard had found and recovered. He didn't want to deal with that nightmare right now. He was sitting alone in the commissary, drinking a lukewarm cup of stale coffee that had been made much earlier that day. He didn't really care how old it was, so long as it would keep him awake and free of the nightmares he knew he would see when he closed his eyes.
The lights were dark, and the chairs were still turned up on the tables. The morning crew that would be making breakfast for the city probably wouldn't be waking up to start their shifts for another couple of hours. There was no way that anybody would be dragging Carson back to a bed unless they were prepared to restrain him again. He had slept far too much the last few days and just didn't want to be reminded any more that everything that had happened was all his fault.
Carson was so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn't heard the door open behind him and was startled out of his reverie when a large bottle of something that he hoped was alcohol and two glasses were placed on the table in front of him. Rodney McKay took a down a chair from the opposite end of the table and made himself at home, then poured a generous amount of the bottle's contents into each of the glasses.
"What the hell is this, coffee?" he said, taking Carson's mug and tossing the liquid into a nearby sink. He took one of the glasses he had filled for himself and pushed the other closer to Carson. "Try this instead."
"What is it?" Carson asked casually as he held up and inspected the clear liquid in his glass.
"It's... uhh..." Rodney muttered, taking the bottle in his hands to look for a label. Upon finding none, he took a hesitant sniff, and then put it back on the table with a look of resignation. "It's alcoholic. I stole it from Zelenka. I'm sure he won't mind."
With a small smile, Carson downed the contents of the glass in one gulp and then placed it back on the table where Rodney eagerly refilled it after emptying his own. A moment of silence passed between them as Carson tried to think of how to say what he knew he should say.
"Rodney, what I want to say is..." Looking down nervously at his hands, he tried to rephrase his words. "Well, what I meant to say was..."
"Don't." Rodney held up a hand to stop him. "Don't say it."
Carson looked up, anxiety and regret etched on his face. "I tried to kill you."
"Fine." Rodney sighed, pouring himself another drink. "You want me to say it? Alright, I'll say it. I forgive you."
He looked back down at his hands. "I wasn't strong enough to stop it."
"Oh, please," Rodney bellowed, sounding a bit more harsh than he meant to. "I forgive you for not being strong enough." Then, after pausing for a moment, "I wasn't strong enough either."
Both of them now seemed uncomfortable with the subject at hand, and so Rodney decided to change it. "It's too bad about Ted Denton, huh?"
"Aye, I heard about what happened to him." Carson sighed heavily, reminded of yet another person he had meant to apologize to, but hadn't had a chance to do it. After overhearing the nurses talk about his mental breakdown with hushed voices, he felt immensely guilty and looked into the matter himself, but it had been too late. Lt. Denton had already left and was on his way back to Earth on the Daedalus where his parents were awaiting his return. He couldn't blame him for having a nervous breakdown. And perhaps it was better that he hadn't gotten around to apologizing after all.
Rodney said nothing more about it.
Carson whispered, his face contorting with the effort of trying to contain his emotions. "What happened to Evans wasn't his fault."
Another long moment of silence ensued. Rodney was beginning to regret his choice of subject matter, and so again decided to change it.
"So," Rodney began tentatively. "Seen any good movies lately?"
"No, I haven't," Carson replied with a heavy sigh as he took another swig from his glass.
"I hear 'Army of Darkness' is on the schedule of movies to be shown in the rec room tomorrow," Rodney stated with a sly grin. "Care to give it a try?"
"Oh God," Carson exclaimed with agitation. "No horror movies for me this weekend, thank you! I think I've had enough horror this week to last a lifetime."
Rodney was incessant. "Oh, come on, Carson! 'Army of Darkness' is a great movie and funny as hell. Live a little!"
Carson smiled and shook his head disapprovingly. Rodney was back to his old self again and would probably somehow finagle him into actually going to see the movie with him. But he was sure as hell going to put up a fight over it.
THE END