"Guilt and Sorrow"
by CheekyBeckett
John came through the event horizon and his eyes settled on the familiar and slightly comforting sight of Atlantis' gate room. Raising his head, he caught sight of Teyla and Elizabeth on the balcony watching the arrival of himself and the others with concerned gazes. He was in no mood to talk but knew it was important to them to know how things had gone.
He turned to the rest of his group but they were already dispersing. Radek flashed him a sad smile and headed out of the gate room, his hand resting lightly on the small of Dr. Cole's back, gently guiding her while escorting her out. Major Lorne gave him a crisp military nod and swiftly left. Ronon met his eyes with a quiet reserve but even he couldn't hide his fatigue. He came up on John's right side and waited. Right, thought Sheppard, let's get this over with. He was about ready for this day to be finished.
He headed up the stairs at less than his usual loping pace, Ronon following him. They met the women at the top of the stairs and Elizabeth made a gesture towards her office. Settling themselves in chairs, they all waited for someone else to start.
Finally, Dr. Weir took charge. "So," she said softly. "How did it go?"
"Pretty much the same as here," Sheppard answered. "Honor guard. General Landry gave a short speech. A few of the colleagues Carson had gotten to know during his short time at the SGC after the Ancients tossed us gave testimonies." He felt the beginnings of a knot in his stomach after mentioning Carson's name. It wasn't pleasant.
Teyla, trying not to favor her injuries and cause further concern among her friends on this day, spoke up from her corner. "How is Rodney?" Rodney, the one person missing from their little group. Well, thought the colonel, the only OTHER person missing besides the obvious one. He felt his knot tighten.
"Rodney is Rodney. He's still pretty shook up. He started to get a little short with the SGC personnel after receiving about the twentieth condolence pat on the arm so Landry set him up in his office with some coffee and orders not to disturb."
"So, he'll..." Elizabeth started. John broke in. "Yeah, he'll stay the night at the SGC and then they'll fly him and the coffin to Scotland in the morning." The knot now definitely twisted.
Weir dropped her head to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. She quickly got control of them and asked another question. "He still refused any support?"
Sheppard rubbed his chin. "Radek and I both tried to talk to him again about it but he insisted he'd rather do it on his own. He's really putting himself through the wringer with this guilt trip of his." But then, who among them hadn't done the same at one time or another these last few days. And by the looks of the drawn, wan faces around him it was beginning to catch up with all of them.
"At any rate, we reminded him that both you and General Landry gave him permission to take as long as he needs with Beckett's family and come back when he's ready. I suggested he might want to stop at his sister's on his return but I don't think he was really listening to me anymore by then."
He really wished Rodney would've let someone go with him. McKay was pretty practiced at hiding his true inner feelings but he could see the mask was slipping and didn't think Rodney should be dealing with that alone.
On the other hand, he could sympathize. He too was feeling the urge to be off by himself. He'd told Teyla this morning it hadn't hit him yet and he wasn't looking forward to it when it did. He had a growing suspicion it was catching up with him sooner than he'd thought and preferred not to deal with it in public, even if they were his closest friends.
Abruptly, he stood up. "So, if there's nothing pressing, I hope you don't mind calling it a day " he said, directing his words to Elizabeth.
Weir shook her head. "No, it's alright. Go. I think we could all use the rest."
Ronon made a move to help Teyla stand up. "You go ahead. I'll help Teyla back to the infirmary." Teyla reached out gratefully for the Satedan's steady arm and looked over to see Sheppard's concerned look. "I'll be fine, John. I'll see you in the morning."
He hesitated for a moment then nodded at his friends. He turned on his heel and headed for his quarters.
John lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Trying to ignore the growing pain in his stomach that had started in Weir's office and was now flooding into his chest. He'd hoped he'd be too tired for it to continue but it kept getting steadily worse. He closed his eyes and tried to will it away, thrumming his fingers on the bed. No good. In fact, closing his eyes just invited images into his head that he'd desperately been trying to keep at bay for the last few days. Carson smiling at him during his last post-mission physical. Carson patting his arm after some particularly nasty shot he'd had to endure. Carson arguing with Rodney as he joined them for dinner one night. The look on Carson's face as he had been pulled into a bone-crushing hug by Ronon after saving his life on Sateda. And finally, the last time he'd seen Carson, walking alongside Teyla's stretcher, telling her everything was going to be alright.
But it hadn't been. A few hours later and Carson was gone. John pounded his fists on the mattress. Why? Why did Carson have to so stubborn! Why couldn't he have listened to John, Rodney, Elizabeth. Why did he have to initiate the shutdown protocol, keeping help that could have saved his life from getting to him in time? John blamed himself. He knew what Carson was like when he went into "doctor" mode. Knew he often didn't like the Colonel's way, the military way, of assessing and implementing damage control. If he'd handled it differently maybe Carson would have listened to him, worked together on a better way to save Carson's patient than just ordering him out and telling him it was too late.
His eyes flashed open and he sat up quickly. He had to stop this. He was going the way of McKay and going fast. All the things he'd said to Rodney over the last few days about not blaming himself flooded back to him now. He bit back a harsh laugh. No wonder he hadn't listened to him. It really didn't help when you felt this bad. This responsible. Guilty. Empty.
Suddenly, he launched himself off the bed, grabbed the first item he could find on his desk, and hurled it at the wall. A glass paperweight. It exploded and shattered with the force of his anger and grief. It felt good and he wanted to do it again. He grabbed his clock radio and threw that against the wall too. Good, but not as satisfactory as the glass.
He turned swiftly, scanned the room, practically ran to the other side, and before he fully comprehended what he was about to do, slammed his bare fist through the window. Pain and noise erupted and rained down on him. But it wasn't enough. He slammed his other hand against the unforgiving metal of the bedroom wall. Over and over and over. He pumped his arm until his shoulder gave out and he couldn't hit anymore.
The angry red surge that had flooded his head and his vision crested and finally began to recede. He turned himself and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. As his breathing slowed and started to normalize his awareness of his physical pain grew. He looked down at his hands and almost immediately wished he hadn't. His right hand was criss-crossed with cuts, some small, several larger ones, and one great slash across the back of it that was dripping blood down his wrist and starting to pool on the floor next to his feet. His left hand was about as red as his blood and starting to swell. He winced and closed his eyes. Perfect. How better to cap off one of the worst days of his life than to mangle himself and earn a trip to the infirmary, the one place he really, really had been hoping to avoid for as long as possible.
He pulled himself off the wall, tried to avoid the larger shards of glass now decorating his floor along with the blood, and walked to his bathroom. He picked up a towel as best as he could with his swollen hand and wrapped it around his bloody one.
He tried with all his might not to imagine what Carson would've thought and said to him about his current predicament and placed a very painful finger to his ear comm.
"Dr. Biro, this is Colonel Sheppard. I've had a slight...accident. Sliced up my hand pretty good. I'm on my way to the Infirmary."
"Colonel, this is Dr. Biro. Do you need assistance getting here?" Concern edged her professional demeanor.
"No, Doc. I can make it. Be right there. Sheppard out."
None too thrilled with himself he made to leave. He stopped just short of the door and looked at the mess he had wrought. He hung his head, feeling slightly shamed. Coupled with the pain in his hands and his now bone crushing fatigue he felt momentarily overwhelmed.
He sighed, looked up, and said quietly, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Carson." He headed out the door and apologized one more time.
"I'm sorry about everything."