Five Minutes Apart
Dec. 26th, 2011 05:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rinkauTitle: Five Minutes Apart
Prompt: Medical
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis - AU
Medium: Fic
Rating: PG
Warnings: No standard warnings apply
Word Count: 1,220
Characters/Pairing: Sheppard/Lorne
Summary: Even doctors get sick sometimes.
“Doctor Sheppard, please call extension 232. Doctor Sheppard, dial 232.”
“I have to go, Lorne. That’s probably about Mrs. McKay. They were supposed to call me when she was five minutes apart.”
Lorne leaned over and snatched the unfinished paper basket of fries from John’s lunch tray. “Toss me some ketchup packets on your way out. How do you eat fries without ketchup?”
“I forgot to grab them, but I like them plain.” Sheppard tossed a couple of packets from a bin by the door over to Evan. “Could you hang around when your shift is over? I’d like you to scrub in if I have to do a C-section on Mrs. McKay; she’s not doing so well.”
Wrinkling his nose, Evan nodded. “Isn’t Biro on call?”
“You’re a better anesthesiologist than her, if you’re here; I’d prefer you any day.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re just trying to butter me up. I wish you said that when you weren’t trying to convince me to work overtime.”
Rolling his eyes and stomping back to the table, Sheppard leaned down and kissed Lorne, biting his lip playfully as he pulled back. “I always prefer you, you know that. Here, home, it doesn’t matter; you’re always my first choice, Ev.” John caressed his cheek and ran from the room as he was paged overhead again.
~*~
Evan looked over at John from where he sat at Mrs. McKay’s head. His boyfriend was sweating profusely and his face above the mask was bright red. “John, are you feeling okay?” he called.
“Towel, Amelia?” John requested in a muffled voice, leaning over so the nurse could wipe his face. “I’ll be fine, Ev. Lunch isn’t sitting very well.”
As soon as the words were out of John’s mouth, Evan felt his own stomach clench. He had started to feel hot when he was about halfway through the administration of the anesthesia. Crap. “It might have been your fries. I’m a little queasy myself.”
“Teyla, would you page Doctor Woolsey for me? Tell him I’m feeling sick and I might have to bolt out of here and I’ll need him to close,” John said quietly to the neonatal nurse. She nodded and crossed to the phone on the wall by the OR door. “You gonna be able to hold up another five minutes, Lorne? I’m almost finished with the laparotomy, we should have this little guy out in another minute or two.”
“I should be okay. Teyla, call Doctor Biro in as well. We both had the same lunch,” Lorne called put as Teyla picked up the receiver. His stomach was going to revolt. He was trying to think calming thoughts and take deep breaths to ride out the nausea. “This sucks, John.”
“Yeah. So much for those dinner plans, eh?”
As promised, two minutes later, John was lifting the tiny baby boy from his mother’s body and passing him to Teyla to clean him up and run him through his Apgar tests. He was up to his wrists in the woman’s abdomen when a masked Doctor Woolsey rushed in, rubber encased hands held high.
“Oh, you look dreadful, John. I’ll take this. Anything I need to know?”
John was weaving on his feet. “Her blood pressure has been wonky for the last week; it was really bad this morning and up and down all day; that’s why we went with the general instead of the local.”
“I’ve been with her, Doctor Sheppard. I’ll fill Doctor Woolsey in,” Amelia volunteered.
“Good, good,” John said distractedly as he lurched towards the door.
When Biro turned up, Evan was beyond grateful. He promised to buy her a pizza... or maybe a diamond bracelet… or had it been a Smartcar? He forgot which it was. He dove for the door, heading for the locker room bathroom.
When he got there, Ronon, the orderly assigned to this OR was coming out of the stalls into the employee lounge, with an unconscious John in a fireman’s carry across his shoulders. Evan groaned and ran towards them. “He just keeled over, Doctor Lorne,” Ronon grumbled.
“Probably food poisoning. Drop him on the sofa in the lounge and page Doctor Stackhouse, he’s on call.” Evan covered his mouth as he retched. He spun towards the stalls and ran, skidding to his knees in front of the toilet just in time. Behind him, he heard Stackhouse come into the lounge, along with Jen Keller, the head floor nurse for obstetrics. He heard them talking, in-between the heaving of his stomach. Those damned fries. He was never eating in the cafeteria again, he vowed as he spewed violently.
A cool, damp OR sponge was pressed to his forehead as gentle fingers felt down his throat for his pulse. “Easy, Doctor Lorne, take it easy, try to breathe slowly.”
Shit, he was hyperventilating on top of it. He hated being sick, he always overreacted. ‘How’s John?” he asked Jen when he sat back on his heels.
“Stacks put him on an IV antiemetic with some hydration. We’re gonna move him down to the resident’s dorm for the night. Do you need to stay?”
“I can’t drive…” he clutched the porcelain firmly, leaned over precariously and puked up his toenails. He felt dizzy and tipped forward; hitting his head on the rim of the bowl before Jen could catch him.
~*~
When Evan woke, John was sitting up in bed beside him, playing with his DS. He gave Evan a wry smirk. “It was the fries. Luckily, only five servings came out of that basket. A cleaning sponge fell into the vat with the basket and the fry kid was too scared to say anything.”
“Done in by a kitchen sponge,” Lorne rasped, putting his hand to his pounding head and encountering a thick bandage there.
John shook his head. “In your case, you were nearly done in by the porcelain god. You’ve got a skull fracture, dumbass.”
“Because of your fries, dumbass.”
“Which you stole, dumberass!”
“No fighting or I’ll move you to separate rooms. How many fingers, Lorne?” Doctor Stackhouse asked as he came up between their beds.
“Three.”
Stacks shook his head. “Bzztt. Wrong answer, you win a round trip prize package to MRIland! Okay Ronon, take him away.”
The orderly moved to the end of the bed and unlocked the wheels.
“Hey! Ronon, push him this way a little.” When Ronon did, John reached over and grabbed Evan’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Sorry. I’m sorry you got sick ‘cause of me.”
“I’ll forgive you this time. If I die, will you take care of Mister Fluffsalot?”
“You are not going to die.”
Evan put a hand to his forehead dramatically as Ronon wheeled him away towards the door. “Poor Mister Fluffsalot, his other daddy doesn’t love him!”
Stackhouse cast an amused look at John. “Cat?”
“Hamster,” John replied and the shouted, “Okay, I’ll feed it. But I am not petting that rodent or picking it up, or cleaning its cage or touching it in any way shape or form!”
Sniffling, Lorne lamented, “Poor Mister Fluffsalot, his daddy hates him.”
Looking over at Stackhouse, John remarked, “He really is usually sane, he just has a few odd quirks that pop up now and then.”
The End
Notes: Also for Hurt Comfort Bingo Fill: "Nausea"
Prompt: Medical
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis - AU
Medium: Fic
Rating: PG
Warnings: No standard warnings apply
Word Count: 1,220
Characters/Pairing: Sheppard/Lorne
Summary: Even doctors get sick sometimes.
“Doctor Sheppard, please call extension 232. Doctor Sheppard, dial 232.”
“I have to go, Lorne. That’s probably about Mrs. McKay. They were supposed to call me when she was five minutes apart.”
Lorne leaned over and snatched the unfinished paper basket of fries from John’s lunch tray. “Toss me some ketchup packets on your way out. How do you eat fries without ketchup?”
“I forgot to grab them, but I like them plain.” Sheppard tossed a couple of packets from a bin by the door over to Evan. “Could you hang around when your shift is over? I’d like you to scrub in if I have to do a C-section on Mrs. McKay; she’s not doing so well.”
Wrinkling his nose, Evan nodded. “Isn’t Biro on call?”
“You’re a better anesthesiologist than her, if you’re here; I’d prefer you any day.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re just trying to butter me up. I wish you said that when you weren’t trying to convince me to work overtime.”
Rolling his eyes and stomping back to the table, Sheppard leaned down and kissed Lorne, biting his lip playfully as he pulled back. “I always prefer you, you know that. Here, home, it doesn’t matter; you’re always my first choice, Ev.” John caressed his cheek and ran from the room as he was paged overhead again.
Evan looked over at John from where he sat at Mrs. McKay’s head. His boyfriend was sweating profusely and his face above the mask was bright red. “John, are you feeling okay?” he called.
“Towel, Amelia?” John requested in a muffled voice, leaning over so the nurse could wipe his face. “I’ll be fine, Ev. Lunch isn’t sitting very well.”
As soon as the words were out of John’s mouth, Evan felt his own stomach clench. He had started to feel hot when he was about halfway through the administration of the anesthesia. Crap. “It might have been your fries. I’m a little queasy myself.”
“Teyla, would you page Doctor Woolsey for me? Tell him I’m feeling sick and I might have to bolt out of here and I’ll need him to close,” John said quietly to the neonatal nurse. She nodded and crossed to the phone on the wall by the OR door. “You gonna be able to hold up another five minutes, Lorne? I’m almost finished with the laparotomy, we should have this little guy out in another minute or two.”
“I should be okay. Teyla, call Doctor Biro in as well. We both had the same lunch,” Lorne called put as Teyla picked up the receiver. His stomach was going to revolt. He was trying to think calming thoughts and take deep breaths to ride out the nausea. “This sucks, John.”
“Yeah. So much for those dinner plans, eh?”
As promised, two minutes later, John was lifting the tiny baby boy from his mother’s body and passing him to Teyla to clean him up and run him through his Apgar tests. He was up to his wrists in the woman’s abdomen when a masked Doctor Woolsey rushed in, rubber encased hands held high.
“Oh, you look dreadful, John. I’ll take this. Anything I need to know?”
John was weaving on his feet. “Her blood pressure has been wonky for the last week; it was really bad this morning and up and down all day; that’s why we went with the general instead of the local.”
“I’ve been with her, Doctor Sheppard. I’ll fill Doctor Woolsey in,” Amelia volunteered.
“Good, good,” John said distractedly as he lurched towards the door.
When Biro turned up, Evan was beyond grateful. He promised to buy her a pizza... or maybe a diamond bracelet… or had it been a Smartcar? He forgot which it was. He dove for the door, heading for the locker room bathroom.
When he got there, Ronon, the orderly assigned to this OR was coming out of the stalls into the employee lounge, with an unconscious John in a fireman’s carry across his shoulders. Evan groaned and ran towards them. “He just keeled over, Doctor Lorne,” Ronon grumbled.
“Probably food poisoning. Drop him on the sofa in the lounge and page Doctor Stackhouse, he’s on call.” Evan covered his mouth as he retched. He spun towards the stalls and ran, skidding to his knees in front of the toilet just in time. Behind him, he heard Stackhouse come into the lounge, along with Jen Keller, the head floor nurse for obstetrics. He heard them talking, in-between the heaving of his stomach. Those damned fries. He was never eating in the cafeteria again, he vowed as he spewed violently.
A cool, damp OR sponge was pressed to his forehead as gentle fingers felt down his throat for his pulse. “Easy, Doctor Lorne, take it easy, try to breathe slowly.”
Shit, he was hyperventilating on top of it. He hated being sick, he always overreacted. ‘How’s John?” he asked Jen when he sat back on his heels.
“Stacks put him on an IV antiemetic with some hydration. We’re gonna move him down to the resident’s dorm for the night. Do you need to stay?”
“I can’t drive…” he clutched the porcelain firmly, leaned over precariously and puked up his toenails. He felt dizzy and tipped forward; hitting his head on the rim of the bowl before Jen could catch him.
When Evan woke, John was sitting up in bed beside him, playing with his DS. He gave Evan a wry smirk. “It was the fries. Luckily, only five servings came out of that basket. A cleaning sponge fell into the vat with the basket and the fry kid was too scared to say anything.”
“Done in by a kitchen sponge,” Lorne rasped, putting his hand to his pounding head and encountering a thick bandage there.
John shook his head. “In your case, you were nearly done in by the porcelain god. You’ve got a skull fracture, dumbass.”
“Because of your fries, dumbass.”
“Which you stole, dumberass!”
“No fighting or I’ll move you to separate rooms. How many fingers, Lorne?” Doctor Stackhouse asked as he came up between their beds.
“Three.”
Stacks shook his head. “Bzztt. Wrong answer, you win a round trip prize package to MRIland! Okay Ronon, take him away.”
The orderly moved to the end of the bed and unlocked the wheels.
“Hey! Ronon, push him this way a little.” When Ronon did, John reached over and grabbed Evan’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Sorry. I’m sorry you got sick ‘cause of me.”
“I’ll forgive you this time. If I die, will you take care of Mister Fluffsalot?”
“You are not going to die.”
Evan put a hand to his forehead dramatically as Ronon wheeled him away towards the door. “Poor Mister Fluffsalot, his other daddy doesn’t love him!”
Stackhouse cast an amused look at John. “Cat?”
“Hamster,” John replied and the shouted, “Okay, I’ll feed it. But I am not petting that rodent or picking it up, or cleaning its cage or touching it in any way shape or form!”
Sniffling, Lorne lamented, “Poor Mister Fluffsalot, his daddy hates him.”
Looking over at Stackhouse, John remarked, “He really is usually sane, he just has a few odd quirks that pop up now and then.”
The End
Notes: Also for Hurt Comfort Bingo Fill: "Nausea"