Title: Continuance
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Not mine, duh.
Notes: Set post-Siege III, John talks to someone who understands.
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It takes six hours for him to break. Six hours, a medical that lasts for fucking ever, a very short debrief because he falls asleep in his chair and General O'Neill sends him to get some sleep, only he stares at the ceiling and then goes to the gym.
There's no-one else there – everyone is busy. Busy debriefing those of the Atlantis expedition who have returned, busy doing their jobs, busy getting on with life. He doesn't know where Rodney is.
He just concentrates on punching the bag. Once, twice, three times. Again. Once, twice, again and again, over and over until his knuckles are bleeding and his hands are stinging. He doesn't stop, he keeps pounding away, trying to get the faces out of his head, trying to –
Hands grip his arms, forcing him to stop, and he whirls to see General O'Neill.
"I told you to sleep," O'Neill says, not unkindly. "But I always used to come here, when General Hammond said the same to me."
"Sir," John says gruffly, not really sure of what is wanted of him.
"Do you want to talk about it?" O'Neill offers, wincing slightly even as he speaks. John shakes his head. "Right. So. Wraith, huh?"
John flinches away from him. "Called one Steve," he says conversationally. "It'll be in the mission reports, sir."
"Cut that out," O'Neill says. "Throw the regs out the window for a minute, would you?" He leads John over to the bench and rummages in a locker for a roll of gauze. "Doctor Weir's given me the reports, I've skimmed a few." He takes John's water bottle and splashes some over John's hands. The younger man gives a hiss. "We'll go through it all – you'll get sick of it – but I figured there might be some stuff you want to get out of your head first."
John glances up at him, then starts bandaging his hands. "Meaning what, sir?"
"Meaning you've been commander of a base for the last ten months, and you haven't been able to talk to anyone," O'Neill says, rolling his eyes. "I've been there, Sheppard." John opens his mouth to speak. "Ah! No bullshit." He pauses for a moment, leans back against the wall. "You wanna tell me about Sumner?"
"No."
"Lieutenant Ford, then," O'Neill suggests.
"He's not dead," John snaps. "He's – we'll find him. It's only a matter of time." He can't look at the general. "He's just addicted to the enzyme, he's not – it's not like he's turned into a Wraith, or something."
"Course not." O'Neill scratches his cheek idly. "I don't know how much you've been told about the Goa'uld."
"Not much," John admits. "We got a bit busy."
O'Neill's mouth twists. "Right. Well, uh, you know they're symbiotes, right? Crawl into people and take over." John nods. "That happened to…a lot of people I know, actually. But, uh…for me? The worst was this boy…Skaare. I guess I sort of…he was like a son."
"Did you get him back?" John asks.
"Oh, yeah," O'Neill nods. "He's dead now…or Ascended, whatever they call it…" He rolls his eyes.
"But you got him back," John murmurs. He ties off the gauze with difficulty, and puts the rest of the roll down on the bench.
"You'll get Ford back," O'Neill says confidently. "One thing you got going for you? You care about the people under your command." John looks at him silently. "I've read your record," O'Neill points out. "And I've had a long talk with Doctor Weir."
"Well, she and I haven't exactly seen eye to eye over everything," John mutters.
"You were never going to," O'Neill shrugs. "You think I always agreed with General Hammond? Or Daniel Jackson?" He sighs. "Thing about Weir is…don't get me wrong, she's perfect for Atlantis, but she's a diplomat. A civilian."
"She wanted to negotiate with the Wraith," John says. "When we first heard about them, when they took Sumner. Then we went to get everyone back, and…" He shudders. "You got no idea, sir. They suck the life out of you, you get older and older and they don't care, and then you're just a shrivelled corpse and there's –" He breaks off, closing his eyes.
O'Neill remains silent.
"Ford'll be okay," John continues after a moment. "He's a good kid. He's smart. We'll find him." He opens his eyes, flexes his hands. "You know…those decisions you have to make. The big ones?"
"Yeah."
"I hate those decisions."
O'Neill nods. "Yeah, they're crap. But hey, you're still here. Most of your people survived, and it wasn't easy out there. That tells me you made the right choices."
A smile curls John's mouth. "I put McKay on my team," he admits.
O'Neill pauses. "Okay, maybe that wasn't such a smart choice." He gives a grin, and John returns it without much reluctance. "You need sleep, Sheppard. If you can't get it yourself, get a sedative. Trust me, you're not the only one – McKay's in the infirmary right now. Out like a light."
"He's been living on caffeine," John says. "Saved us all."
"Yeah, I hear he's good at that."
"He's…" John trails off and closes his eyes. "He's the best." His eyes open again, and he looks at O'Neill with alarm. "I mean –"
"You're not telling," O'Neill says softly. "I'm not asking." He gives a wry grin. "Besides, I don't like being hypocritical." He gets up, ignoring John's incredulous stare. "I'd better get back. Don't want them to think I've disappeared again. They tend to frown on that." He pauses at the door. "Meeting's at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow, Sheppard. Get to the infirmary, get a sedative, we'll talk then."
"Yes sir," John says automatically. He sits for a long moment after O'Neill has gone, and then he goes to the infirmary. A nurse tuts over his hands and he is given a sedative and a bed.
He is woken in the morning by Rodney's complaining, and he smiles.
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