Be Not Afeard : "He collapsed during a private meeting with Elizabeth."

"Colonel Sheppard? John?"

The first thing he'd noticed was a slight blurring to his vision. He'd blinked a few times to try and clear it but it didn't get better. In fact it got worse and he started to see an odd haze around objects… kinda like.. what was it those new-age types talked about? Auras. That was it. Little fuzzy auras around shapes…

Sound was the next to go and Elizabeth's words seemed to come from a long way away, tinny and distant. He was only vaguely aware of her rising from her seat, sharp concern edging her voice as she moved closer but, oddly, her words moved further away. The growing ache behind his eyes made him screw them shut, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to pinch off the sensation of building pressure.

"John?" The touch on his shoulder was a welcome distraction, pulling him back into the world for a moment, and he opened his eyes as far as a squint and lurched abruptly from his seat. His balance was off and he felt himself wobble as he tried to mutter an excuse; his words came out slurred and he was vaguely aware of hands gripping his upper arms, trying to steady him, as Elizabeth's worried face swam in front of him.

He had a moment to think, "Is this what Beckett warned..?" before sudden, blinding, stabbing pain blocked out the world. He was barely aware of crying out, of pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, of his legs giving way under him. He didn't feel it when he hit the floor, didn't feel anything but the agonising throb and scream of pain that seemed to swell in his head until there couldn't possibly be room to contain it. It felt, literally felt, like his head was about to explode.

He had no idea how long he lay wrapped in his own misery before the firm touch of several pairs of hands signalled the intrusion of the world around him. He was vaguely aware of a low keening noise as they pulled him gently from his fetal huddle; it wasn't until he sucked in a shuddering breath and the noise stopped that he realised that he was the one making it.

He didn't dare open his eyes; even with them closed the lights of the conference room were agonisingly bright as he was rolled onto his back and carefully lifted, the sensation of movement churning his stomach horribly. He was rigidly tense as he was laid on a padded surface, straps tightening across his body and preventing his instinctive urge to curl up again, to huddle around his pain. He thought he might have whimpered a little but he was unable to think beyond the awful pain, the swimming dizziness and the growing nausea.

There was a sudden sensation of motion and the clacking of wheels, the metallic rattling of a gurney pushed at high speed, was loud enough to echo in his skull, making him want to scream. He felt unbalanced, as though he were falling, the gurney seeming to roll hideously from side to side, and nausea spiked. He slurred a panicked warning and hand scrabbled to loosen the straps across his chest as he twisted his head to the side and vomited helplessly.

The gurney kept moving, hands lifting and half rolling his torso, twisting him over to one side as he continued to retch miserably, every gut-clenching spasm making the pain stab, brighter and sharper, behind his eyes. By the time they reached the infirmary he was feeling more wretched than he ever had in his life. The infirmary lights were achingly bright, glaring redly through his tightly-scrunched eyelids, and the tramp of feet, the clatter of medical instruments, the rustle of scrubs and the chatter of medical staff exchanging meaningless information was deafening. Every sound seemed to be magnified tenfold and he wanted nothing more than to clamp his hands over his ears and shut out the world.

The transfer from gurney to bed was nightmarish and his stomach rebelled once more, a bowl nudging against his chin as he was hurriedly rolled to one side, hanging over the edge of the mattress as he heaved and retched painfully. He was barely aware of the world around him; voices talking to him, hands prodding and moving him, everything simply merged into a blur of painful noise and motion, a hideous, churning background to the hammering pain in his skull, the prick of a needle in his arm notable only because of the promise of eventual relief that it implied.

Eventually, after what seemed an eternity, the chatter and noise lessened and the painful glare of the lights reduced, at least a little. He lay as still as he could, dizziness nonetheless providing a false sensation of motion, the bed seeming to sway and rock nauseatingly under him. His muscles were tight with tension, his body held rigidly in one position for fear that the slightest movement would aggravate the pounding, blinding headache.

Improvement was slow and gradual, a progressive lessening of the tight band of pressure around his skull, imperceptible at first. Relief was an almost physical rush as he realised that the pain was receding and he carefully let tightly held muscles begin to relax. The pain wasn't gone, it was still pounding away in the background, but it was more distant now… it was bearable. With relaxation came a sudden exhaustion that washed over him in a wave that made him physically shiver, his body suddenly feeling heavy and limp, his limbs unresponsive. The room still felt too bright, too noisy, but he couldn't summon up the energy to do anything about it and, with a shudder of relief, he let the dull throbbing at the base of his skull lull him groggily into the sweet numbness of medicated sleep.

Fin