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Anybody would think that hospital mattresses would be better, given that patients were certain to heal more quickly if they could get some damned rest. After all, hospital food was good enough—although under the circumstances it was tempting to conclude that maybe well-fed, tired patients were actually the goal. Rodney McKay rolled over to his other side, hoping to distribute the discomfort more evenly across his back. Of course, this was more an infirmary than a hospital, and SGC had probably gone with the lowest bidder for all their equipment, and what that said about the potential for catastrophic mishap during a medical crisis was enough to make any rational human being nervous. Of course, the Pegasus Galaxy could do that without trying, even leaving medical incompetence out of it. Rodney rolled over again. For the umpteenth time. And the scratchy sheets were irritating even though, through some oversight no doubt, he'd been left his clothes to wear, instead of one of those abominably flapping hospital gowns.
"Beckett!" he called. After a few minutes, Carson Beckett shambled around the corner, looking hungover and rumpled, which was to say, just like he usually did, only a little more so. "You look like hell," Rodney said. "I'm not sure I want my medical care handled by someone who looks like he hasn't slept in days. And speaking of which, I'm having trouble sleeping on this miserable excuse for a bed, and you won't let me do anything productive to distract myself while I suffer. When can I go back to my quarters? It's not like you've found anything wrong with me after doing, oh, three scans and taking a half-pint of blood, and what do you need that much blood for, anyway? I thought therapeutic bloodletting went out with the Middle Ages—"
"Rodney—"
"Not that medicine has advanced all that much since then, really, but—"
"Rodney. Dr. McKay. It's eleven-thirty. You experienced a loss of consciousness—"
"Thank you very much. 'Fainted'—hmph!"
"—approximately five hours ago—"
"And it's not like it was an unexplained lapse of consciousness, either. Hello? Evil black energy-sucking alien cloud?"
"Rodney." New voice. Rodney swiveled his head around to see Major Sheppard leaning up against the doorway. "Take a breath now and then. Carson, is there any reason to think that it wouldn't be safe for Dr. McKay to go back to his quarters to sleep tonight?"
"As safe as it ever is around here—" Rodney muttered.
Beckett looked pained. "As I was trying to say—the last scan came back clean, finally, after we re-booted the processor."
"Oh," said Rodney, more relieved than he was willing to admit outside of the privacy of his own skull. "You're sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure." Beckett sounded like he really did need to get some sleep. Cranky.
"If you're finished with him, I could walk him back to his quarters and make sure he's tucked in," Sheppard said lazily.
Rodney glared at him, then turned back to Beckett, his neck twinging at the motion. "Well?"
"If you'll sleep when you get there?"
Rodney nodded vigorously and insincerely, and suppressed a wince. Ow. "Of course."
"Go." Beckett came over and lowered the rail on the bed. "Please."
"Thank you." Rodney swung his legs over the side, and stood. Vertical, at last. "And you don't need to bother with the escort, Major. I'm capable of finding my own way."
"No bother, McKay. Glad to do it." Sheppard probably thought that was a smile. If "Smirks 'R' Us" were a corporation, he'd be the CEO and chief salesman.
"Oh, all right." It wasn't like he couldn't go obediently along to his quarters and then back to the lab a little later. It wasn't all that far. Though, if he could save that wasted trip—lab that way; quarters the other. "Major?" Sheppard was walking along just a little behind him, for some reason. Rodney's neck twinged again.
"Mmm?"
"Beckett was probably just projecting, back there. Didn't you think he looked tired, himself? I'm really feeling very alert and awake, and I've lost a whole day I could have been working, and there are two projects I left in the lab which could really use my—"
"Nope. Quarters."
Rodney huffed his dissatisfaction, but didn't say anything.
"So. What'd it feel like?"
"What? The cloud? Thing?"
"No, getting your blood drawn. Of course the cloud. Thing." Sheppard always sounded so good natured when he was being sarcastic.
"Well, the shield undoubtedly limited its effects."
"Yes, or you'd probably be very dead."
"And thank you very much for reminding me of that. It's always good to know you've escaped death by inches. Or by the grace of a personal shield whose power supply lasted just long enough to keep me from being energy-sucked to death."
"Escaped death. That's the part to concentrate on. What'd it feel like?"
Rodney grimaced. "Did you ever fall asleep in a bathtub and wake up in cold water?"
"You think that's likely?" Sheppard had renewed his smirk.
"Never mind. It was kind of like that. Oh, and with added pounding headache and apocalyptic muscle cramps."
"Huh. Good thing we got rid of it, then."
"Good thing we did."
"Yeah." Sheppard took a half-step sideways as they walked and bumped his shoulder against Rodney's.
"Ow."
"What? Jeez, McKay."
"It's just. My neck. Those infirmary beds are atrocious, but I did doze a little bit, and I think I did something bad to my neck."
"And you didn't bother to mention that to Carson?"
"Here's an Advil, take a hot shower, get some sleep." Rodney knew his impression of Beckett was less than stellar, but did Sheppard have to laugh quite so loudly? "I can do that on my own. Besides, I might've wound up having to spend the whole night in that bed, and no thanks. I didn't want to revisit that dream I had when I dropped off." He didn't need to look over and see Sheppard's face to know that his eyebrows were semaphoring 'go on'. "Like you're really interested."
"I'm agog."
Rodney snorted. "All right. Just for that." His door, finally. "Oh, never mind. It was just one of those ones where you're blind and don't know where you are and you know you're going to die."
"Huh. I don't think I've had that one." Sheppard followed him inside, as if it were perfectly normal for him to do so.
"What?"
Sheppard pulled the chair out. "Sit down." He steered Rodney into the chair.
"I'm not a puddle-jumper, you know." He might have stood right back up again, except that Sheppard's warm hands had found the back of his neck and his thumbs were doing something there which made Rodney's breath flow out in a long blissful sigh.
"Never would have guessed, you being so clearly a piece of Ancient technology and all."
"Uhh. Don't stop."
Sheppard's hands moved back and forth, up and down, for a long time. Fingernails scratched up into Rodney's hair, sending a wave of goosebumps down his spine.
"Although, I do seem to be able to turn you on." Sheppard's voice was flat and uninflected.
Rodney dragged his eyelids open. Yes, it was pretty obviously not just an exceptional wrinkle in his pants, there. Too bad. There wasn't going to be an easy way to sidestep it this time. Sheppard's hands lifted away from him. Rodney stayed exactly where he was for a moment, hoping against all reason that they'd return. As usual, reason was right, and they didn't.
"Is...that going to be a problem, Major?" He twisted around in the chair, peering up at Sheppard. His neck was better, but the way the movement caused the fabric of his pants to shift was really distracting. Sheppard had his best blank expression in place. Rodney sighed, resigned. "Never mind. It doesn't mean anything, you know. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye-bye." He turned back around and reached across the desk for the closest laptop.
"Rodney." And he hadn't ever heard that ragged tone in Sheppard's voice before. Leaving the laptop to fend for itself amongst the herd, Rodney looked up and back. Sheppard came around the side of the chair and tugged at his arm, his face still giving nothing away, though his ears seemed a bit flushed.
"Sit down. Stand up. Make up your mind, Major." Sheppard's hands on his shoulders, now, pulling him to stand closer than he would have expected Sheppard's comfort zone to allow. Rodney moved a little shuffling step nearer him, and leaned in, and when Sheppard still didn't flinch, he reached out and pulled him closer yet.
"I'm never gonna make Colonel." A gust of breath past his ear, and then a glancing brush of soft warmth at the angle of his jaw. Oh, that wasn't fair.
"Is that going to be my fault some day?" Rodney asked, because it absolutely wouldn't do to let Sheppard talk himself into something he'd really regret later. Just because it felt good wasn't an excuse. And just because Sheppard's neck smelled so good wasn't another. And there was simply no purpose to counting up all the reasons while he waited for Sheppard to come to the only conclusion he was likely to, if he would only think about it. And there it was, that little step back. Rodney let his arms fall to his sides. It had never been likely, after all. Wishful thinking didn't change the odds. Statistics were funny like that.
"No."
"Yeah, I thought so." Rodney said. "No harm, no foul, right?" he said, trying for a light note, though his voice shook just a little.
"No," Sheppard repeated. "I mean, not no no. No, it'll never be your fault. It's not a fault kind of thing. It's, just—" Oh, kissing.
After a while, there was a minute where they were both catching their breath, and Rodney said, "So, not no no means yes? In a good, non-fault-ascribing way?" He couldn't help but grin. "Did you know I'm a genius?" And he could tell that John agreed by the way he rolled them both onto the bed.