#mcbeckett

(For general audiences.  Warnings for needles and blood, but includes Rodney McKay and Carson Beckett cosiness and could be read as McBeckett!)

In a small pool of light in the night-time infirmary, Carson sat down at Rodney's bedside.  He took Rodney's hand in his.  Rodney looked at him, doubtfully.

Holding the hand gently, but firmly, Carson traced one finger along the line of a vein, stroking and tapping, his eyes lowered in concentration.  He paused, and with his broad, blunt thumb, caressed back and forth, humming thoughtfully.  Reaching out, he plucked an alcohol wipe from the nearby trolley and with deliberate care, bathed Rodney's skin in cool freshness.  Rodney sighed.

"Are you alright, Rodney?  You're very quiet."

"Oh, you know, just tired."

"Aye, well," said Carson.  "A general anaesthetic'll do that to you.  How's your pain level?"

Rodney shrugged.  "A pleasantly hazy one or two."

"Well," said Carson, releasing his hand and rustling the contents of the trolley, "you let me know if you need a top-up." He smiled.  "I'm sure you will."

Rodney hummed indeterminately.

"Here we go, then.  Sharp scratch," Carson warned.

Rodney turned away.  The pain was sudden and sharp, but brief.

"Right, let's try that with a bit of saline."

First there was pressure, and then the sharp pain returned and steadily grew to a stabbing rage.  Rodney yelled.  "Ow!  Dammit, Carson!"

"Sorry, sorry, that one's no good!"

The cannula was withdrawn, the burning pain remaining as the doctor pressed down hard with a small piece of gauze.  He fumbled, one-handed, for the tape, stuck the gauze down and sat back.

"Let's try that again, shall we?"

Rodney let his head fall back onto the pillows and closed his eyes.  His hand was taken up once more in that cool, firm, practiced grip.  The fingers gently probed up and down, tapping and stroking, patting and pressing, running softly over his knuckles and to either side of his wrist, a gentle kiss of flesh on flesh.

"Tricky wee buggers, your veins."

"Hmm."

"Make a fist for me."

Rodney complied.

"Okay, relax now.  I'll try this one."

Sensuous cool delight laved the back of Rodney's hand once more.  He breathed deeply in and out.

"Alright, sharp scratch again."

The pain was worth it.  And it was less this time than the first.  A successful attempt; he was almost sorry.

"Ach, you wee -"

"What?"  Rodney's eyes flew open.

"It's in the vein, but there's no blood coming."

"Why not?" Rodney barked, his haziness dispersing rapidly.  "Where's my blood?  I've got blood!"

"Calm down, Rodney." Carson shrugged.  "It just happens that way sometimes." Another folded up piece of gauze was pressed and taped into place.  Sympathetic blue eyes gazed into his.  "Can I try again now, or do you want to leave it for a bit?"

"Oh, well, I suppose if it has to be done!" He relaxed back into the soft pillows once more and closed his eyes, maintaining a long-suffering expression, with difficulty.

"Can I try the other hand?"

Rodney hummed assent.

Wheels rolled down to the end of the bed and up the other side, as Carson drew along his trolley of magic tricks.

Rodney waited, anticipating the sensory pleasure to come.

"You're very flushed, Rodney.  I think I'll just check your temperature.  A stray hair was smoothed behind his ear and even the intrusion of the thermometer felt like an act of tenderness.

"Normal," said Carson.  "Do you want me to take one of the blankets off?"

"No." A thought occurred.  "Actually, yes." Some of the weight disappeared from his body.  "Or maybe not."

"Make up your mind."

"Not."

The blanket settled once more and was tucked carefully around him and smoothed over his chest.  Nice.

Carson began again and Rodney gave himself up to sensual pleasure, his delight cresting over the intervening stabs of pain.  Soon there were two more folded wads of gauze securely taped to his hand.

"I'm really sorry about this, Rodney!" The doctor was growing flustered.  "Your veins are shy little beasties!"

"Can't blame them," said Rodney.

"I suppose not.  Can you stand one more attempt?"

Rodney lifted his chin with gently resigned bravery.  "I can take it!" he replied.  And closed his eyes once more.

Carson began exploring Rodney's forearm.  He held the hand in both of his, carefully rotating it this way and that, searching with his eyes.  His fingers probed either side of Rodney's wrist, then ran up the smooth underside of his arm, pressing into the soft flesh.  He turned the arm again, studied the back, and ran his hand down, spiralling around with the grain of the sensitive hairs.  He paused and sighed, then turned his attention to the crook of Rodney's elbow, running his thumb back and forth over the creases and then probing gently with his finger tips.

Rodney smiled and let slip a contented rumble, deep in his throat.

The fingers hesitated.  "Rodney?  Are you purring?"

He froze.  "No!  I'm - I'm enduring stoically!"

Carson's eyes lowered and he gave a small smile.  "I see." He resumed, and there was another brief, sharp pain and the doctor triumphed.  "Got the wee devil!"

Rodney felt the cold flush and chemical taste of saline with disappointment.  Hooked up to whatever magic brew was in witch-doctor fashion, he turned his head away from Carson and opened his eyes to the impersonal clinical equipment and scrubbed sheen of the infirmary floor.

"Rodney?"

He kept his head turned away, unwilling for his friend to see the glimpse of his lonely inner world.

Then his hand was gently clasped one more and a thumb stroked slowly back and forth over the thin skin of his knuckles.

"Rodney?"

I can no longer think of this day of the week the same. *cries*

He just wanted to go fishing with his boyfriend. He was going to have his first day off in months, and he was going to spend it with his best friend fishing. And he was so excited about it the entire episode, and literally telling everyone about it.

They were so married and you can’t convince me otherwise. Carson had a framed picture of the two of them in his room. Rodney is the one to go through his stuff and tell Carson’s mother of his death. Carson could be the sweetest cinnamon bun to everyone else, but so salty to Rodney. Rodney’s guilt about backing out of their date...”I should have just gone fishing”. *cries*

*fires algorithm correcting ShepFord and McBeckett shots into the air*