McKay in Wonderhell

Author’s notes: I wrote this while watching Children of Dune. The name has no associative characteristics of the character; I just think it’s a pretty name.

A finger flicked the inside of his right elbow and a wet cotton ball patted the pain away. The needle hurt as it found an artery. It did little to quell his nausea. The woman brushed his arm with her hand, soothingly.

He heard the man roll a stool and a table closer to his bed. “How did it look, Alia?”

“He’ll need stitches and he has a slight fever. Pulse is thready but stable, but I haven’t examined him thoroughly. I thought I’d leave that to you, Doctor.” There was humor in her voice. She removed the needle from his arm, placed another wet cotton ball on the prick, and bent his elbow.

“Ah, you’re too kind.”

Rodney felt hands on his ankles. He screamed.

“Easy, easy. I need to look at you, Mr. McKay.”

“No, no. Leave me alone!” They were the first words he was able to speak. His voice croacked. He suddenly realized how thirsty he was.

“You’re bleeding internally. I need to treat you. I will give you a local anesthetic, so you won’t feel a thing.”

He considered the doctor’s words. It hurt so much, but he didn’t want anyone touching him.

“I need you to scoot closer to me.”

He hesitated, closed his eyes, and slowly made his way down the bed making his knees rise.

“That’s good,” said the doctor. He once again grasped his ankles and placed them in stirrups on either side of the bed.

His finger nails dug into his palms. Ow. Why did his palms hurt?

The doctor’s gloves snapped as he pulled then down over his wrists.

Gloves. Why did the idea of gloves scare him? The smell of them made his stomach coil.

“Alright, take a deep breath and relax.”

Rodney held his breath tight in his lungs, and every muscle in his body was taught. He knew exactly what the doctor was going to do next.

The woman took his right hand. “Com’on now, Hun. Let’s not make this difficult. Take a deep breath and squeeze my hand if it gets too difficult.”

He was squeezing hard already.

“Breathe out.” He did so, only because his lungs felt like they were going to burst. “Breathe in. Breathe out slowly. Breathe in.”

He felt a slick finger invade his insides. The next “breathe out” was a cry. The finger was touching everything, pushing all over. Focusing down where the pain was almost unbearable.

“Ow, ow! Stop! You said I won’t feel it.” He was openly sobbing.

The woman rubbed at his tears, avoiding the tiny bits of vomit still attached to his stubble.

The finger pulled out. “Yeah, he’ll need stitches.”

“She already fucking told you that!”

“Language, Mr. McKay. I would have thought that you would have been used to this by now. You’ve done this to yourself enough times,” the doctor said coldly, maybe sadly.

“What?!”

“Maybe a little pain is what you need in order to stop this sort of behavior.” The doctor sighed. “Roll onto your side, and I’ll give you the anesthetic.” He helped him lift his ankles from the stirrups, and he rolled onto his side. “I’ll need you to be still.”

He felt the painful prick of a needle.

“It’ll take a while for you to go numb, but you knew that already.”

“Do we need to take a sample, Doctor?” asked the woman.

“No. The lab has enough work to do. There’s no point anyway. Get him cleaned up, and I’ll be back.”

“Right,” she replied.

He heard her shuffling around the room and snap on her own pair of gloves. “Put your legs back up here, Hun.” She helped guide his ankles back into the stirrups.

He turned his head. This is so embarrassing. He tried to take his mind off of the fact that his rear was becoming extremely intimate with her sponge. Embarr-assing. This is definitely a bare assed situation, isn’t it? It did little to improve his mood. Slowly but surely, his backside was loosing sensation.

“How is your leg feeling?”

“It hurts. Why does it hurt?”

“Because bones break when people jump from three story buildings. I’ll see about getting you back on painkillers after we get your blood-work results.”

“I jumped out of a building? When?”

“You don’t remember? Two months ago?” He was quiet, his face contorted with deep thinking. “Maybe those anti-psychotics were really a bad idea. Er, have you hit your head lately?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Huh. I’ll let the doctor know. Can you feel this?”

“No.” He looked down to see that she was doing something to his rear.

“How ‘bout this?”

“No.”

“I’ll get the doctor. Do you need me to stay with you?”

“I’m okay.”

“Alright. I’ll let Radek know that you won’t be there at lunch.”

Who? Wait, that name was familiar.

She left, and it was several long minutes (the bare assed situation still heavy on his mind) before the doctor strode back to his bed.

He winced as he heard the doctor snap on a new pair of gloves. “Nurse Alia told me what you said about your leg. I want to go over your blood test before I play any of your games. Just for fun, though, what is the first thing you remember?” said the doctor from between his legs.

Rodney was quiet while he tried to remember. “Um, this morning. When the nurse woke me up. Um, I know something . . . this . . . happened last night, but I don’t know exactly what happened. I remember smells mostly.”

“Interesting. Can you tell me who?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.” He heard a needle and clamp rattle as they hit the metal table.

"No because you don't want to, or no because you can't remember?" the doctor said accusingly.

"No because I can't remember."

“Well, I’m done here. I’ll get you some painkillers and a brace for your leg. We might have taken the cast off too early. You’ll stay in here for today.” The doctor pulled his legs from the stirrups, and he scooted to a comfortable position on the bed. The doctor threw his gloves into a trashcan and began to wash his hands in a nearby sink.

“I’m thirsty.”

“Alia is going to bring you some breakfast.”

"I think I have to pee."

"Alia!"

Scottish. He had a Scottish accent.