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The first day (or what they assumed was a day, but in reality was probably more like a couple of hours) was spent in a vague haze of setting up the Jumper on a steady course back towards Pegasus, making sure that the sensors were calibrated to automatically turn on the cloak if it detected a Hive ship, and assessing the supplies that had been laid in to the jumper for this sort of emergency.
Dr. Rodney McKay was, if nothing else, good at the technological tasks assigned to him by an increasingly hoarse John Sheppard, as Kavenaugh and Lee argued about where the portable toilet (A bucket, for god's sake) should be placed in the cargo area of the jumper. The immediacy of organizing and determining who would be in charge of what aspect of their survival took precedence to dissecting what went wrong and how exactly things went down in their escape from Midway. (Kavenaugh, that’s what happened. And the two rescued marines were put in charge of food and water. No one would even consider letting the man who blew up the station be responsible for anything.)
But never let it be said that Rodney missed details about someone he’d spent hours and days with on missions and playing games. John was delegating, and asserting some sort of calm control over what could’ve been a panicked mess– but he was too obviously hiding how his hands were shaking on the Jumper’s controls, and had already dropped at least one of the MREs tossed in his direction by the marine in charge of the food supplies.
“John.”
“Did you finish the long range thing– proximity alert?” There was the hint of a rasp under the question, and Rodney knew–
“It’s done, everything is set, all we can do now is wait.” He would’ve said more, but Kavenaugh was whining about being in charge of the latrine bucket, and Lee was starting in on a description of some computer game simulation, and the marines were vocally disabusing them both of the notion that they were interested in hearing about either topic, and it was suddenly far too loud.
And too quiet.
Statistics and symptoms of oxygen deprivation just hammered into his mind. Confusion, coordination issues, unconsciousness– and the effects of a vacuum on human tissue. Delicate human tissue, like lungs—
Rodney saw the flinch out of the corner of his eye, then turned to stare wide-eyed, as the arguments in the rear compartment grew to a fevered pitch.
Bloodshot eyes met his, as John silently warned him not to panic.
“I’m fine,” Sheppard muttered, then cleared his throat, “Headache– Just too noisy in here.”
Rodney stalked to the back, intent on telling these idiots to quiet down and then heard the door to the cockpit rumble shut.
Waving to reopen it did nothing.
“Huh.” Rodney said, staring at the door.
Magically, the arguing group behind him stopped to stare.
“He’s ok?” Lee asked in the sudden silence.
“Fine. Probably just tired of listening to you argue.” McKay eyed the control panel, ignoring the quiet look of concern from the marine in charge of the water. (One of these days, he should really try to remember their names.) “Not used to this many people in a Jumper–”
And Lee was off again about some random topic– Kavenaugh right on top of it. One of the marines gave Rodney a tight nod, sighed, and relaxed.
Dr. McKay gritted his teeth, scowled, and sat down on the floor by the bulkhead. Damnit. What if John was hurt worse than he’d let on? What if – What if he was dying in there, and the only reason that he’s locking them out is so that they don’t know, that they’re going to be adrift without a real pilot, and–
“Morale.” Lt. Water muttered to him, handing over a bottle of water and a Powerbar. “If he’s not doing well, there’s nothing we can do out here. Don’t want to let civilians know. Or Moody. They’d panic, and we’d be wasting more oxygen and energy. Pilots though, all that training. I know you can break in, just wait 'til these bozos sleep, and check on him. Doubt he’d boot you out for that. I won’t tell.”
Rodney nodded, mute. There was little to nothing that any of them was qualified for in the way of medical intervention. To be frank, there was almost nothing that any one of them could do in the event that something was seriously wrong with anyone on this jumper. The marines might have a little more first aid training– but he knew Sheppard. And he knew how long it took to get into those suits, and John hadn’t answered his radio or moved until he’d been touched.
A few hours later, the science slumber party was well past the virtual ‘braiding hair’ stage, and onto the part where the complaining about personal space began. Lino as he’d discovered the water marine to be named, nodded at Rodney, leaning back in his space.
“Any way we can dim the lights in here, doc? Would make sleeping a little easier.”
“Lights–” Rodney was about to protest, but caught on to the raised eyebrow from the unexpected ally. “I can do that. Just give me a couple of minutes. It’ll probably save power, if we can get them on a schedule– save our circadian rhythms as well, wouldn’t want to wind up being sleep deprived as well.”
Huh. Maybe some of these marines were a little smarter than he’d expected. Lino had given him the perfect excuse to tinker with the more minor functions of the Jumper– not like he didn’t already know. McKay muttered to himself as he poked around the slightly less familiar functions in the pull-down crystal circuits. The hatch to the cockpit was easy enough to find, and the lock disabled– but that’s not where the environmentals were. He hummed.
“Nope… not this one– wait, Lino? Environmentals are behind you. Let me–”
“Yessir,” A tired grin from the lieutenant, as he moved, making sure to pat the first aid kit.
The lights were easy enough to dim, and if Rodney was seen tucking the kit under his arm, no one said anything.
Probably because they were still arguing.
Rodney slouched against the closed door, hugging the kit.
It took an hour for the others (Other than Lino) to settle, and the snoring from Lee and Kavenaugh made him wonder if they’d wake each other up–Rodney hoped not. They might actually try to talk to him, and right now he didn’t want to talk to either of them. Lino stood, moving to a position in front of where McKay was slouching.
“Now would be a good time. They don’t need to know it’s unlocked.”
“You wouldn’t–”
“I’m good, doc. I’ve dealt with worse. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do. Besides cover your six.”
Rodney staggered to his feet, and silently (Uncharacteristically. Normally he’d be talking, but right now– morale.) slipped through the door.
John Sheppard was asleep. Soundlessly, bonelessly flopped in the pilot’s chair, with his neck at an angle that made Rodney wince. It looked like he hadn’t moved, since shutting the door. Even his tac vest was still fastened.
Had he passed out (again?) before even making himself comfortable?
“Sheppard?” Rodney forced himself to use a whisper.
“Hngh.”
“John, that’s going to be painful if you stay in that position. You’re not a cat.” Rodney reached out to grab a shoulder, and found his wrist suddenly locked in an almost painful grip. “John, it’s just me.”
In the low lights of the cockpit, he could see that John’s eyes were open, but barely.
“Did you take anything for the headache yet?” Rodney awkwardly pulled out the first aid kit with his other hand, and set it on the locked down part of the console. “Water? Any injuries that I can actually help with, or are you bleeding out somewhere that I won’t be able to do anything about even if I could– I don’t think Lee could do any emergency surgery, and I’m barely trusting Kavanaugh with the latrine at this point, but Lino might be able to pull something out, and–”
Rodney stopped in the face of John’s glare.
“I almost killed you, John. Could you at least let me know that I didn’t succeed? Please. It’s bad enough that we’re stuck in a jumper, in the middle of nowhere, and I’m trying not to lose my mind, but the thought that I might have fatally injured one of my only friends–”
“I’m fine.” The glare softened, and John continued to whisper. “Little roughed up by the last of the Wraith, but nothing serious. O-2 dep headache and cough, but nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
“You’ve–”
“Fighter pilot. We get training for those kinds of situations. Well. Not so much the ‘venting atmosphere and fighting bad guys at the same time’ kind of situation, but…there’s a test that involves a lock, and oxygen dep– I passed that with flying colors. Just haven’t done that for a while.”
“So is that how you got into the space suit?”
An uncomfortable grimace crossed Sheppard’s face, and he cleared his throat before answering.
“To be honest, I don’t remember. Just knew I needed to get there.” John’s eyes found Rodney’s face, “You… uh… actually woke me up. So. Thanks for that.”
“That’s why you didn’t answer. You were unconscious.” Rodney closed his eyes for a moment, trying to beat back all the statistics he knew about hypoxia –he hadn’t had the Air Force training, of course, but he had to know the risks because he had to do space walks on occasion, and… unconsciousness preceded seizures, and brain damage– “Damnit, John, you–”
“I’ll be fine.” The grip on his arm slipped away. “Just got a killer headache, and could probably sleep for a week.”
“Could probably use some supplemental oxygen as well. And a scan, to make sure you didn’t actually do any brain damage–”
John chuckled softly at that.
“Not much that can be done on a Jumper.”
“Well, you can stay hydrated, get some rest– preferably without destroying your neck.” Rodney pointed at the kit. “Painkillers for the headache. Nothing strong.”
McKay cautiously opened the hatch, and called for Lino.
“They’re still asleep, sir. You need something?”
“Sheppard’s supplies. Water, food.” Rodney thought for a moment. “Spare bucket, maybe.”
“Sir.” McKay could feel John’s gaze on his back, as Lino cautiously and quietly moved things inside the cockpit, while Rodney started typing on the console.
“McKay?”
“Look. you were exposed to an extremely low oxygen atmosphere, and lost consciousness. You don’t remember getting into that suit, and your coordination has been off since before we got into the Jumper. You might feel okay, other than the obvious bruises, but you’ve got enough symptoms of hypoxia to make me…. Concerned that you might not be as fine as you think. Everyone but me and Lino think you’ve locked yourself in here, so, we’re going to take advantage of that.” Rodney was already using the shuttle commands, and surprisingly (or not) finding the program that he needed. That Sheppard needed. The lights were powered down in the cockpit, and would be powered down in the cargo area on a regular basis, so getting it to work wouldn’t take a whole lot more of the Jumper’s power. Just… as long as it wasn’t for the whole craft. And not for more than a few days.
Lino was back in the doorway, watching over the slumbering occupants.
“Take advantage–”
“I’m going to increase the oxygen content of the cockpit to give you a better chance to recover. Just… just for a couple of days.” Rodney hit the last of the specs. “I can check on you occasionally, but you should try to get some rest. Keep your blood pressure down until we get a medic who can make sure.”
“Rodney–” McKay looked up. There was a faint smile on John’s tired face. “Thanks.”
“Well. I did almost kill you, so…”
“On my orders. You sure–”
“We’ll be fine. Take off the tac vest, put up your feet, and get some rest. Oh— uh. I might not be a medical doctor, but - hydrate and pills first. If you need anything–” Rodney made a vague gesture towards the cargo hold “I’ll be trying to ignore the idiots. And trying to make sure they don’t blow anything else up.”
“We’d all appreciate that, sir.” Lino said softly.
The door slid shut behind Rodney, closing off Colonel Sheppard shrugging out of his tac vest, and putting his feet up on the other built in chair.
He’d be fine. They’d all be fine. They just had to wait.
Dr. Rodney McKay flopped down to lean against the closed bulkhead, tilted back his head and closed his eyes. He heard Lino do the same.
They’ll all be fine. He had to believe it. John believed it, and Rodney trusted him.
They just had to wait.