Shepperd's Personal Diary 2

Second October Entry

by Elfkin

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/ase/elfkin/diarys02.php
Summary: Sheppard gets a bit more comfortable with keeping a journal

October 11th : 2004 2200 hours

I'm not posting in this thing cause I want to or anything like that. I just figured while I was sitting around I might as well get this weeks entry out of the way. So it's only 4 days after the first one. So what.

Anyway, I think my nuts have actually thawed out now. Let it never be said that Dr. Elizabeth Weir does not have Snow Queen down pat. So I broke her scientist. Big deal. It's not like it isn't the one she threatened to exile anyway. Sheesh!

Beckett checked the good Dr. Dick-wad out and told him to stay in bed in the infirmary. (He's got a bone bruised scapula and a mild concussion to go along with other sundry bruises and scuffs) He is not an agile man, our Cavanaugh.

Then our Scottish Sadist checked me out too. (Cause I did end up having to rescue Cavanaugh from the damn bocce ball.) Beckett noticed my hand was sorta swollen and suddenly he goes all Jewish mother on me. Turns out I broke my right wrist when I pile drived Cavanaugh to the ground so the damn ball didn't slam him in the kidney. That's when he got the concussion too. Talk about a plan biting you in the ass.

But for about 45 seconds, it had been hillarious to watch him try to dance around the damn thing.

Then, to make matters worse...or better or whatever... Elizabeth came in, having heard about the "accident", and she looked right at me and I knew she knew I could control the damn thing. And for a second that cold little twitch at the corner of her mouth grew into that "near-smirk" she gets and I felt my balls freeze before they could crawl back up into my body. My former assessment that she would not really have stranded the jerk...I take it back. She would have stranded him on a wraith planet.

I am not sure whether Cavanaugh has figured it out, but I think he at least suspects. He's fell asleep hours ago and it's a restless one. I keep hearing him mumble crap like "No! Get that ball away from me, Major."

I should be laughing. But I'm not. I have violated my new goal of late...to stay out of the infirmary in the capacity of patient. If it weren't for the fact that no one but Weir has any clue that I did it on purpose, well...this would have been a total bust.

So here I am in the infirmary at 10 pm, bored out of my skull and in too much pain to sleep. (No, I am not taking any damn narcotic pain killers. Call it the paranoid military leader syndrome...but if I go zonked and the base is under attack, then what good am I?) And I am trying to type into a journal with one hand, the wrong hand. Which is about as easy as masturbating with the off hand and is even less satisfying.

And you know what. I want to know why when I thought about masturbation a moment ago, why the fly fuck did an image of McKay flip through my head. Can anyone in the Universe riddle me that one? Never mind, on second thought, I do not want to know.

Besides, McKay is here now. He's just set me a coffee on the bed table. Must have snuck in with it past Beckett. Ha! He is learning from me.

~~~

Okay that was weird. Even for McKay. I thought he'd chat like he usually does... Which means he sucks at it but tries. And instead he just watched me drink the really sucky coffee with a satisfied grin. Then he wished me a good night's sleep and departed. When Rodney McKay brings you coffee, you expect two things. (A) For it to be sugared to hell, which this was and (B) for it to taste better than 12 hour old bitter dregs. Which this did not. But at least it it was a nice thought....

And my arm aches a lot less now too.

And in fact, I am finally feeling like sleep, despite the new infusion of caffeine. I may put the damn journal awa y for laterrr.

Fuck lme! That assssholl pot soomthinf n my cofe!

Im gonana kil hin!

Next: Third October Entry