Elizabeth scanned the Gateroom, trying desperately to quell the rising panic she felt. At least 100 refugees had poured through the gate, and aside from two of Major Lorne's men, who looked safe and well, she was yet to see any of her expedition members.
The new arrivals looked terrified. Shellshocked. At least half had injuries, most of them superficial, but significant enough that they'd need to turn the immediate area into a makeshift infirmary. Carson Beckett's actual rooms were not big enough to handle a crowd of this size.
An injured Evan Lorne finally stepped up beside here, appearing as if from nowhere from the throng of people.
"Sorry about this, Dr Weir," he offered, "we had no choice. It was a sudden attack, they were out in the open, there was no way they'd have survived.."
"The Wraith?" she asked.
"No. Civil war. The other guys were heavily armed... these people.."
"It's okay," Elizabeth replied. "I've called Dr Beckett and his team here."
She motioned to the Major's heavily bleeding arm.
"Nothing," he insisted.
Elizabeth nodded, knowing that was not truly the case. "Make sure the medical team looks at it as soon as possible."
As soon as Major Lorne disappeared into the mass of refugees, Elizabeth returned to her previous activity of scanning the crowd. She caught sight of Ronon, head and shoulders above everyone else, helping an injured Rodney McKay. He was limping badly, blood streaming down left leg and his side.
The panic was back as she spotted Teyla, leaning heavily on one of Major Lorne's team. Both of them injured, helping each other along.
There was still no sign of John Sheppard. She knew he'd be somewhere near the back of the group. One of the last through. Making sure everyone else was okay before getting himself to safety. The 'gate had shut down several minutes ago, and the fact that she hadn't seen him...
"Elizabeth," she heard a familiar voice call from about ten metres away. She'd barely heard it over the noise of the frightened refugees.
She turned, dreading what she'd see when she locked eyes with him.
Suddenly, there he was, a few feet away. Elizabeth released a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding.
He was smiling at her. There was a cut on his face, some blood visible seeping through his shirt on his left shoulder, but other than that...
"Are you okay?"
She looked up, looking into his eyes and seeing his concern. She nodded, trying to return his smile, hating to think how terrified she must have looked to him.
"Sit down," she told him, finally finding the courage to speak. "I'll get a medic.."
"No," John grabbed her arm as she turned to leave in search of help, "I'm fine," he insisted. "There are others who need help a lot more than I do."
Elizabeth sighed, knowing full well this was the end of the conversation. He was nothing if not stubborn.
She tapped the shoulder of a passing medic, murmuring instructions to him. He nodded, motioned to his head and shoulder, and passed her a few items.
"Sit," Elizabeth repeated, as she turned back to John.
He looked at her curiously.
"If you won't let a medic see you, I'll clean your cuts."
John smirked at her, "You just want a chance to see me with my shirt off."
She rolled her eyes, "That's right, Colonel, I can't wait to see you all bruised and bloodied."
John's expression softened, "It's nothing, I promise. I won't even need one stitch."
"That's for me to decide. Shirt off. Now."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief as John shrugged his shirt back on.
He'd been right. There was a lot of blood, but the underlying cuts were shallow. No need for stitches. She'd cleaned them, dressed them, and turned her attention to his head, and the gash just below his hairline, above his left eye.
"I don't think that'll scar," she noted.
"Damn."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
"Well, we all know women like scars," he teased, "they make a man look rugged... dangerous."
Elizabeth gave in to the urge to run a thumb along his hairline, under the guise of making sure the dressing was in place.
"I kind of like you the way you are," she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.
John smiled at her. "You know what? I think that bedside manner of yours is really coming along well..."
The new arrivals looked terrified. Shellshocked. At least half had injuries, most of them superficial, but significant enough that they'd need to turn the immediate area into a makeshift infirmary. Carson Beckett's actual rooms were not big enough to handle a crowd of this size.
An injured Evan Lorne finally stepped up beside here, appearing as if from nowhere from the throng of people.
"Sorry about this, Dr Weir," he offered, "we had no choice. It was a sudden attack, they were out in the open, there was no way they'd have survived.."
"The Wraith?" she asked.
"No. Civil war. The other guys were heavily armed... these people.."
"It's okay," Elizabeth replied. "I've called Dr Beckett and his team here."
She motioned to the Major's heavily bleeding arm.
"Nothing," he insisted.
Elizabeth nodded, knowing that was not truly the case. "Make sure the medical team looks at it as soon as possible."
As soon as Major Lorne disappeared into the mass of refugees, Elizabeth returned to her previous activity of scanning the crowd. She caught sight of Ronon, head and shoulders above everyone else, helping an injured Rodney McKay. He was limping badly, blood streaming down left leg and his side.
The panic was back as she spotted Teyla, leaning heavily on one of Major Lorne's team. Both of them injured, helping each other along.
There was still no sign of John Sheppard. She knew he'd be somewhere near the back of the group. One of the last through. Making sure everyone else was okay before getting himself to safety. The 'gate had shut down several minutes ago, and the fact that she hadn't seen him...
"Elizabeth," she heard a familiar voice call from about ten metres away. She'd barely heard it over the noise of the frightened refugees.
She turned, dreading what she'd see when she locked eyes with him.
Suddenly, there he was, a few feet away. Elizabeth released a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding.
He was smiling at her. There was a cut on his face, some blood visible seeping through his shirt on his left shoulder, but other than that...
"Are you okay?"
She looked up, looking into his eyes and seeing his concern. She nodded, trying to return his smile, hating to think how terrified she must have looked to him.
"Sit down," she told him, finally finding the courage to speak. "I'll get a medic.."
"No," John grabbed her arm as she turned to leave in search of help, "I'm fine," he insisted. "There are others who need help a lot more than I do."
Elizabeth sighed, knowing full well this was the end of the conversation. He was nothing if not stubborn.
She tapped the shoulder of a passing medic, murmuring instructions to him. He nodded, motioned to his head and shoulder, and passed her a few items.
"Sit," Elizabeth repeated, as she turned back to John.
He looked at her curiously.
"If you won't let a medic see you, I'll clean your cuts."
John smirked at her, "You just want a chance to see me with my shirt off."
She rolled her eyes, "That's right, Colonel, I can't wait to see you all bruised and bloodied."
John's expression softened, "It's nothing, I promise. I won't even need one stitch."
"That's for me to decide. Shirt off. Now."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief as John shrugged his shirt back on.
He'd been right. There was a lot of blood, but the underlying cuts were shallow. No need for stitches. She'd cleaned them, dressed them, and turned her attention to his head, and the gash just below his hairline, above his left eye.
"I don't think that'll scar," she noted.
"Damn."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
"Well, we all know women like scars," he teased, "they make a man look rugged... dangerous."
Elizabeth gave in to the urge to run a thumb along his hairline, under the guise of making sure the dressing was in place.
"I kind of like you the way you are," she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.
John smiled at her. "You know what? I think that bedside manner of yours is really coming along well..."