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He'd seen him red so often. Carson Beckett bloodied to his elbows was an unnerving sight, and one Rodney had seen too many times. Then, at least, it was someone else's blood.

This time -- this time it was terrifying, because the blood was Carson's and it was all over his chest and his face and his abdomen and his breath was gurgling and Rodney had no idea what to do. He held the pressure bandage down as Carson lay in the back of the Jumper, eyes closed, one hand knotted in the strap of Rodney's thigh holster.

"Can't you fly this damned thing any faster?" Rodney shouted, and Sheppard didn't say anything, but Rodney could see the tension in his shoulders. He wished that sheer brainpower could make the thing speed up because really, it would be doing warp ten if it were up to him.

There was a thick trail of red seeping from one corner of Carson's mouth and Rodney could barely hold his panic in check.

He'd kissed that mouth a thousand times, but he'd never imagined seeing it like this. He'd never wanted to, in his darkest nightmares. One red bubble formed and Carson made a choked sound. Teyla tilted his head back a little, clearing the airway, and Carson's breathing was just a tiny bit easier.

"Dial it up," Sheppard snapped, and Ronon hit the address for Atlantis, but Rodney barely noticed the flash of light as the wormhole swallowed them.

There was a med team waiting in the Jumper bay when they landed, and they swept Carson away so fast that Rodney could only stand there in shock, staring at his hands.

Red. They were red.

It wasn't until Sheppard's clean, white hand was on his shoulder that Rodney looked up, stopped staring at the thick, glistening liquid that burned with a copper tang on his skin. "Come on," Sheppard said. He tugged at Rodney's shoulder. Rodney nodded, silent, and fell into step behind him, Teyla and Ronon flanking him like some grim honor guard.

He was numb. It had gone bad so fast. One minute they were talking to some stupid old lady and the next minute there were Wraith and flying bullets and Carson was folding, eyes rolling back in his head. In the furious thunder of the battle, Rodney heard only the soft thud of Carson's body hitting the earth.

It was the loudest thing he'd ever heard.

The next five minutes were blank. He had no idea how they'd gotten back to the Jumper, or when he'd gotten strong enough to haul Carson like that, limp in his arms. The phrase "dead weight" echoed in his mind and he denied it with a growing knot in his gut.

Carson had opened his eyes once in the Jumper, looking up at him, clear and coherent in that instant. He'd reached up and grabbed the strap of Rodney's thigh holster, fingers clenching as his eyes slipped shut. Rodney's heart had nearly stopped.

He was shaking by the time they got to the infirmary. Someone made him sit on an exam table. He barely noticed as they cut away his sleeve.

Huh. Who knew some of the blood on his arm was his own?

Rodney's head was swimming and he demanded to know how Carson was. "We're prepping him for surgery," was the only answer he received.

By the time his arm was bandaged, some of the shock was starting to wear off. His arm was a blaze of pain. A nurse stuck an IV in the back of his hand and made him lie down in an infirmary bed.

"No. How's Carson? What's happening with him? Are you utterly incompetent, or are you just pretending to be?"

"He's in surgery, Dr. McKay. Please, just calm down."

"I *am* calm," he snapped, but he could hear the edge of hysteria in his voice.

The IV in his hand was sending a cold thread up his arm. "Of course," the nurse said. He couldn't believe she sounded so patronizing.

"That's not an answer. I want to know what's happening!"

"We don't know yet," she said. "Please, we'll let you know as soon as we know anything. You're not the only one worried about him."

Rodney blinked. Actually, she looked kind of pale and there was a tightness around her eyes that he didn't usually see when she was poking him with needles. "It's bad, isn't it?" he asked softly.

She nodded, her brown hair bobbing. "Yes."

Rodney looked down at his hands. They'd been red before, but they were clean now, and he didn't even remember that happening. This losing time thing really had to stop. It was disconcerting at the very least. "Did I hit my head?" he asked. "I'd really like to know if I hit my head, because I don't remember half of what happened in the last hour. Has it been an hour?"

"You've been back for about thirty-five minutes," she said. "You didn't hit your head, but you are in shock. Please, just rest." She eased a blanket over him. He wasn't wearing his vest. When had they got him into scrubs? His head was buzzing badly and he still felt frantic.

Sheppard poked his head in behind the curtain. "You okay, McKay?"

"No. No, I'm not okay. I'm very, very far from okay. Nothing is okay and nobody's telling me anything about how Carson is and why the fuck don't we know anything yet?" Rodney was babbling and he knew it, but he didn't care.

"Hey." Sheppard's voice was quiet and he rested a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "He was hit bad. You know that. They're taking care of him. He's gonna be okay."

"You don't *know* that!" Rodney shouted, leaning up on one elbow. "How can you tell me that when you don't *know* that?"

Sheppard sat near his hip on the bed. "They said we got him here in time. It was bad, but you know the docs here are the best. They'll take care of him. You need to calm down. They'll let us know as soon as they have any news." Sheppard was using his sincere voice. Rodney hated it when Sheppard used his sincere voice.

He looked up at the ceiling. It was bland and grey, like so much of Atlantis's architecture. Rodney closed his eyes, squeezing them shut, but when he did, all he could see was red and Carson and flashes of violence. Carson, folding, and the sound of him hitting the ground. The sharp tang of blood was in his nose and his eyes shot open. "Fuck."

"They came out of nowhere," Sheppard said.

Rodney took Sheppard's wrist and squeezed hard, his fingers twitching with the force of it. He wished he could feel something other than the cold terror coiled in his gut.

"I should have suspected something. Ronon was nervous. I should have known." Sheppard's eyes were haunted.

"We're here," Rodney said. It wasn't enough. Carson should be whole. He shouldn't be a blood-soaked afterimage on Rodney's corneas. Rodney wasn't sure he'd ever seen so much blood spreading so fast before. Not since...

No. He wouldn't think about Gall.

"He's gonna be all right," Sheppard whispered. His hand closed over Rodney's.

***

The world was red -- solid and dark. Carson could taste copper and sharp chemicals.

It was a long time before the warmth of his hand faded in. There was warmth and pressure and... fingers. Fingers around his hand. Someone holding it.

There was a quiet sound and pain in his chest and the sound was his own labored breathing. Breathing hurt. His chest hurt. The air in his lungs was cold and dry and his nose was dry and there was something in his mouth and his throat and nothing made sense.

"Carson?"

The voice was a long distance away. Hollow. Familiar.

Pressure on his hand as fingers squeezed. "Carson? I know you're in there. Quit lollygagging and open your eyes."

Rodney. The voice was Rodney. Oh, thank god.

"Please." Fear and desperation.

Red darkened to black.

***

Rodney didn't want to give in to despair, but Carson was a mess. They said he'd be okay, but he looked so damned pale and half-dead and he hadn't opened his eyes even once in the past two days. He was sure Carson had tried. There had been flickers when Rodney was sure he was conscious.

Why wouldn't he just open his eyes? It would be so simple. Even just a moment, like he'd had in the Jumper on the way back -- was that really too much to ask?

The nurses had kept trying to chase him out every couple of hours, but he'd fought them at every turn until they'd called security. Then Rodney had called in Sheppard and that was the end of it. He'd been camped out here the entire time since Carson had come out of post-op. Watching. Waiting.

Holding Carson's hand.

It wasn't like nobody knew, after all. They hadn't announced it on city-wide either, but anyone paying attention knew. What he had with Carson was relatively simple, really. Rodney ranted and Carson made everything better. Rodney pressed and Carson yielded. Rodney came home from hideous, death-defying adventures and Carson took care of him.

This whole Carson in an infirmary bed was so not a part of the pattern. Rodney hated it. He never wanted to see it happen again. He wanted to see some colour in Carson's face. He wanted to see blue eyes and that brilliant smile and hear the warmth of Carson's voice.

Hell, right now? He'd settle for a wrinkled forehead and Carson lecturing him on his caffeine habit and borderline hypertension. Really.

A silent pressure on his fingers stopped him. Rodney looked down but it didn't look like Carson had moved. There was pressure again and this time he saw Carson's fingers twitch.

"Carson? Carson, can you open your eyes for me?" There was a flicker of eyelids, then a sliver of blue. The fifteen tonne weight in Rodney's chest lifted for the first time since Carson had been shot.

Carson's mouth moved, but no sound came out.

"Don't talk, okay? Just... just don't." Carson blinked slowly. Rodney smiled and squeezed Carson's hand. "I need to call somebody. They said I could only stay if I let them know when you woke up." Carson blinked again and Rodney hit the call button.

Nanoseconds later, there were half a dozen people in the room and Rodney was hustled out into a waiting room, where he fumed and called Sheppard and Elizabeth.

***

The drug haze made it difficult to focus, but Carson knew Rodney was there -- had been there, sitting by his side for who knew how long. Nothing felt right. Even through the medication, Carson could feel the weight of his injured chest and the dull vestiges of what he knew would be agony if he were awake and alert.

Rodney's hand was in his and there were voices. Rodney's and Zelenka's. They were arguing quietly about something that Carson hadn't a prayer of following. He tried to tell them to shut it, because he needed rest, but the only thing that came out was a tiny sound of pain. Their voices stopped, blessed silence settling on him for a moment. "Carson?"

Carson opened his eyes. The effort was immense, but seeing Rodney's face again was reassuring. He squeezed Rodney's hand and the worry in Rodney's face crumpled, replaced by his crooked smile.

Radek stepped closer and laid a hand gently on his arm. "We have been very worried about you."

"You are so not the one who's supposed to be laying there," Rodney said, his smile vanishing. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Carson shook his head, confused, but he couldn't move much through the fog. It made him dizzy. "Wha...?"

"You stepped in front of a bullet, you incompetent ass. I'm supposed to be the one lying there so that you can patch me up. How the hell did you think we were gonna fix you, anyway?" Rodney's face was darkening, red with anger and fear.

There was really nothing Carson could do or say to that, mostly because he wasn't actually capable of speaking, or even of genuine focus. Rodney's face swam in front of his eyes. "S'ry," he whispered. His throat hurt. Not that he was actually sorry Rodney wasn't lying in an infirmary bed, but he did feel badly that Rodney was angry with him.

The anger in Rodney's face faded as quickly as it had come and Rodney tucked closer to the bed, slipping an arm about him. "No, no, no," he whispered. "No, I don't want an apology, damn it, I want you back." Rodney's voice cracked on that last and Radek patted Rodney's shoulder.

"I'll leave you two alone," he said. "We can discuss the Jumper's cloak failure later." Rodney didn't seem to even notice.

Carson did the only thing he could, and tightened his fingers around Rodney's hand. Rodney held him, face buried in his chest. "I thought you were going to die," he said softly. "There was so much blood."

He must have taken a lung hit, from the pain he felt. He couldn't blame Rodney for being afraid. It must have been a terrible thing to watch. Carson hated seeing it, even knowing there were things he could do to help. To see it and feel as helpless as Rodney must have -- it was too hard to think about.

"If you ever do that to me again, I am so kicking your ass," Rodney mumbled, his voice unsteady. "I'm the one who's supposed to do stupid things like get my ass shot up. You're supposed to be there with bandages and the good drugs."

Carson drifted, not able to say anything, but the warmth of Rodney so close was a balm to him. He needed the touch and knowing so surely that Rodney was there, was complaining, was himself and whole. He could feel where Rodney's arm held him,
the heat of Rodney's breath on his face as he lifted his head to look in Carson's eyes. "So, like, don't do that again."

Rodney's hand was warm on his cheek, thumb stroking gently under his eye. "Damn it, don't cry, Carson." Soft lips touched his face.

Was he crying? He'd not even noticed. Probably the drugs. They were obviously very good ones. Everything felt like it was wrapped in soft, achy, down comforters. He closed his eyes and let go, falling back into sleep.

***

Rodney was pleased when the wardens let Carson out to go home. He would be on bed rest, but at least it would be in their bed. Sleeping alone wasn't an option, so he'd spent most of the last week and a half sleeping in an extremely uncomfortable chair next to Carson's bed in the infirmary.

Carson had complained regularly about Rodney working next to his bed. Apparently it had something to do with the volume being disturbing when Rodney's underlings were being too stupid to live. Rodney would take the hint and start whispering harshly into his radio, which usually led to Carson rolling his eyes and calling him a prat.

It wasn't like Rodney could leave, after all. How could he possibly trust those morons who worked for Carson to take proper care of him? Minions obviously needed shouting at. Blankets needed adjusting and water needed watering and pillows occasionally needed fluffing. Not when anyone was looking, of course, but there was definitely something to be said for the look of gratitude on Carson's face when he did those things.

Carson was lying in bed when Rodney got home, sprawled on his back. He didn't open his eyes so Rodney assumed that Carson was either asleep or just ignoring him to make up for Rodney working next to his bed in the infirmary. It was all just fine to Rodney. Carson was there. He was breathing. He wasn't soaked in blood or gasping for breath, making horrible sucking noises while he did it. There were no dark, scarlet bubbles at his lips.

Carson's breathing was slow and even. Rodney shucked his clothes. It was well after 2530 and really, he should have been home in bed three hours ago, but things had suffered for lack of his hands on supervision.

There was a soft sound when Rodney slipped into bed. He slipped up close to Carson's warm, still body and put one arm around him, tucking his face in close to Carson's stubbled cheek. Carson didn't wake, but his hand closed around Rodney's.

Carson was safe, alive. There was no blood here and Carson smelled of sleep and sweet tea and clean sweat. Rodney nuzzled Carson's cheek, kissing him gently, and let himself smile just a little.

Carson made a quiet, content noise. Rodney kissed him again, lips touching lips, soft and warm. "Glad you're home," he whispered. Wrapping one leg around Carson's, he pulled him close. There was nothing better than this.

"Mmm," Carson mumbled, his mouth seeking Rodney's. He moved a little, rolling carefully onto his side, and slowly moved his arm around Rodney's waist. Carson nuzzled into Rodney's shoulder. "You're home." The quiet burr of his accent was welcome, a thing Rodney cherished.

"Go back to sleep," Rodney said. He caressed Carson's forehead, brushing his fingers through Carson's spiky pillow hair. Carson turned his face to Rodney's. They kissed slowly, hands moving carefully on warm, naked skin. Carson's mouth was hot; his tongue slick and wet. It felt fabulous.

"Missed you." Carson's voice was thick and drowsy. Rodney didn't think he was entirely awake. It was nice, knowing Carson had missed this.

"I missed you too." Rodney sighed, pleased, when Carson kissed him again. It had been too damned long since he'd had this. He'd come too close to losing everything he cared about. He let one hand move slowly along Carson's side.

"Feels good."

"Stop talking. Go back to sleep." Rodney placed one last kiss on Carson's forehead. Rodney finally closed his eyes, content.