The Survival Course

Sheppard winced as he pulled on his shirt, careful to make sure that Beckett was looking the other way. It had been a harrowing two days, and the Major's body was beginning to broadcast the details. He had bruises on his bruises, and his ribs hurt like heck. All he wanted now was to debrief, shower, and crash for a good eight hours. Nevertheless, he schooled his face to bland expectancy, turned to Beckett and hinted, "So, doc, am I good to go?"

Carson frowned as he studied the chest films hanging on the view box. "Honestly, Major, I'd like to get a CT of your chest and abdomen." He pointed to Sheppard's ribs on the films, "With fractures like those, there's a risk of internal damage."

That was not what John wanted to hear. "Aw, come on, doc," he cajoled. "You already poked and prodded every inch! Except for the arm and the ribs, I'm fine."

Beckett raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Yes, but you've fractured five ribs. You're lucky you didn't puncture a lung."

"But I didn't."

"No," Carson agreed, glancing at the chest film, "you didn't."

"Then what's the problem? If anything happens, I can be back in a flash." John pushed sincerity with every word.

Beckett hesitated, sympathizing with the exhaustion in the pilot's face. "Well....do you promise to come right back if you develop any new symptoms?"

Raising his right hand, John replied, "Scout's honour."

Beckett pursed his lips. He wasn't happy about it, but the Major had a point - he had done a thorough exam and found nothing else wrong. It was just a nagging belief in Murphy's Law that had him on edge. Finally, he nodded. "All right, then, out wi' ye. But come back if you have any problems."

Sheppard flashed his patented 'I got away with it again' grin and eased down from the exam table. "Thanks, but I'll be fine. I'm a survivor." With that reassurance and a wave, he gingerly managed to saunter out the door.

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"You know Major, you might be right." Weir narrowed her eyes considerably. "Something certainly needs to be done." Following the debriefing concerning the deaths of Drs. Gaul and Abrams, the two leaders of Atlantis were having a private discussion concerning ways to prevent a similar occurrence in the future. "We never know who might be needed on any given mission, and we have to make sure everyone can handle themselves in a field situation."

"Well, we don't have to reinvent the wheel; the US military has been doing this type of training for over a hundred years."

"Major, most of the people here are not soldiers."

Sheppard's mouth set into a grim line. "No, but they end up in situations where they need to behave like one. What if Gaul or Abrams had a chance to fire a weapon but didn't due to unfamiliarity? I just..."

Weir interrupted him with a raised hand. "Agreed. Agreed." She sighed, "What do you suggest?"

Sheppard groaned as he straightened; sitting for fifteen hours on the trip back had allowed his abused muscles to stiffen up, and further sitting in the infirmary waiting for Beckett to examine and release him hadn't helped. With difficulty he focussed on his point; "Survival training. Range practice. But first, a team confidence course; too many people here think in terms of 'I' rather than 'we'."

Weir quirked her lip. "The scientific and medical communities are going to be hard to convince."

Shooting her a sly glance, Sheppard waggled his index finger. "I have an idea about that..."