Summary: Rodney's faith in Sheppard's coping mechanisms aside, there was the issue Sheppard had with taking proper care of himself. As in, he didn't.
AN: Happy very belated birthday, thisissirius! *coughs* This is actually the third story I've started to write for you, and the only one I kind of finished. Hope you like. :D
Blink-and-you-miss-it spoiler for Tao of McKay
Of A Friend
When Sheppard left the infirmary immediately after the post-mission check-up, Teyla and Ronon shared a long, meaningful look, no doubt silently communicating age-old warrior ways to help a friend cope with a mission gone incredibly wrong. Rodney would have rolled his eyes, but a) they could both easily kick his ass, and b) well… they were right. Mostly. The mission had been a failure right from the start, that was true, and while the rest of his team had been able to take turns catching some sleep, Sheppard had been alone out there. Trying to hide a bunch of kids from the Wraith and get them to the safety of the caves, where the surviving villagers had been hiding.
It had taken him almost three days, and not all the children had made it. Knowing Sheppard, he was blaming himself for that.
But, knowing Sheppard, the man would find a way to live with it, without anyone continuously telling him it wasn't his fault. Sheppard and guilt had a habit of meeting regularly, yes, but the soldier always came out on top.
It was just a matter of time.
Still, Rodney's faith in Sheppard's coping mechanisms aside, there was the issue Sheppard had with taking proper care of himself. As in, he didn't. And Rodney's recent lessons in being a better friend – or, all right, the knowledge that he could be a better friend if he took the time – had taught him one important fact. Two important facts, actually.
He didn't have to do a single thing for Sheppard to maintain their friendship.
It didn't mean he didn't want to.
That second one had surprised him. And confronted with his obviously deeply buried wish to do something for Sheppard, he'd also discovered there was nothing to be actually done, which had been more than a little frustrating.
Well. There was, now.
Rodney left his other two team members to agree on ways to keep Sheppard occupied for the next few days, and, after a brief detour over his lab, went straight to the mess. He liked MREs and valued their nutritious qualities, but after three days of nothing else, he was in desperate need of real food, before his stomach shrank and he'd never be able to eat twelve of his mango pudding cups in a row again.
It was self-defence, really. Otherwise, Ronon would just inhale them, and the Daedalus brought a depressingly small amount of them on every turn – Rodney wouldn't have anything to feed his addiction, and he'd get cranky and distracted and make mistakes and Atlantis would go up in flames. It was a real possibility.
The mess food was good average in quality, as always, and Rodney even slowed down a little to really taste what he was eating. Then he disposed of his tray, picked up another, and loaded it with various sandwiches, Sheppard's beloved riisha cake, and two cartons of juice before he left for the residential area.
He had to work a bit to get Sheppard's door to open, but he'd picked up the right tools earlier and it didn't take him two minutes before he stood inside the room.
Sheppard was lying face down on the bed, fully clothed and out like a light, not stirring when Rodney set the tray on his desk. For a moment, he just stared at his friend, grimacing at the deep lines of exhaustion on the slack face, at the way the sidearm had to dig painfully into his thigh. Most likely, Sheppard hadn't even planned on falling asleep, only wanting to lie down for a minute or two when his fatigue had caught up with him.
Rodney put a hand on Sheppard's shoulder and shook him slightly.
"Hey."
There was no reaction. He might as well have tried to wake a coma patient.
Well. Only one thing to do, really.
Inwardly thanking the SGC for delivering bigger beds, Rodney rolled Sheppard's sleep-heavy body around, so the man was lying on his back. Precariously close to the edge, yes, but a little dragging and pulling got him nicely situated on the middle of the mattress. The thigh-strap was unclipped first, sidearm still secure in its holster as Rodney set it on a nearby chair. He could feel a slight flush warming his cheeks at fumbling around so close to Sheppard's groin; thankfully, his friend stayed completely oblivious. The boots came next, safe and innocent at the end of Sheppard's body, and a bitch to unlace. Rodney wrinkled his nose when he pulled them off – three days of running around on alien planets made for a nice pair of sweaty feet.
It wasn't too bad, though, and anyway, his mind was already on the tricky part of the whole operation. Unzipping Sheppard's vest and jacket was easy, getting him out of them… not so much. Rodney was amazed that his clumsy manhandling didn't wake the man, but even propped up into a sitting position, face mashed into Rodney's collarbone while various pieces of clothing were dragged down his shoulders, Sheppard's breathing stayed deep and even. He didn't even know if that was evidence of bone-deep exhaustion or a special level of trust, but, as he took extra care to lay Sheppard down again as gently as possible, Rodney figured he might as well go with the latter.
He gave Sheppard's shoulder a last friendly pat, and stood up, satisfied with his work. T-shirt, pants, and socks should be a lot more comfortable to sleep in than full gear. There was a spare blanket in one of the closets, which Rodney spread over his sleeping friend. Then he left the room as quietly as he'd entered, satisfied with a job well done.
Sheppard would be okay. Rodney would make sure of that.
~~~
Um, yes. So this is utterly pointless. Still, uh, happy birthday?