Author's Note: I want to thank you guys for all the wonderful reviews. My internet service has been AWOL for a while, so I'm posting the final chapter while it's working. I'll have to catch up on answering reviews when I get home later (provided the internet is still going).
Execution - Chapter 4
John sat straight up, panting so hard he was almost dizzy. His heart beat so fast in his chest that it seemed like there was no gap between. The musty smell of the bag and the scratch of the rough fabric against his face was still very real.
"Sheppard?"
Jumping, John jerked back as he swiveled his head. Ronon was standing beside his bed, brows furrowed in concern. It threw him for a moment and he quickly glanced around to see where he was. The infirmary. Everything suddenly fell into place.
"Yeah, I'm okay," John breathed out.
"Colonel Sheppard? Is everything okay?"
John jumped again at the sound of the nurse's voice on his other side. The over-active startle reflex was starting to get on his nerves. "I'm fine."
"Another nightmare?" she asked, directing her question to Ronon.
"Yeah, looks like it," the big man answered.
Normally John would be getting annoyed at being talked about like he wasn't there, but his main concern right now was the feeling of suffocation that was tightening his chest. He could still feel the bag over his head, smell the dirt and sweat that had penetrated the fabric. Telling himself that everything was fine and he was in Atlantis wasn't doing any good and he found himself almost gasping for air. Clawing at the blankets, he began pulling his feet out from under the covers.
"What are you doing?" asked Ronon.
"Colonel Sheppard, please, you need to stay in bed. You're very ill," the nurse said as she tried to hold him in place.
"I need to get out of here . . . I can't breathe . . . it's like that bag is still on my head . . . please, just for a few minutes." He was frantic to get outside, to get some air that didn't smell like death.
"Sheppard, you're sick. You need to stay here."
"No, I need outside . . . please, the balcony . . . just for a while . . ." He knew the bag wasn't on his face and yet he couldn't stop himself from clawing at it, rubbing his hand roughly across his head. "I just . . . I can't breathe . . . "
Ronon apparently sensed his panic, because he quit trying to hold him down and began helping him get out of bed.
"No, no, no," said the nurse. "It's chilly out there . . . it's not even dawn yet."
"He can cover up with blankets," said Ronon.
The nurse looked perplexed for a moment and then sighed in resignation. "Okay, I'll probably lose my job over this when Dr. Keller finds out. Wait and let me get a wheelchair and some blankets."
Ten minutes later, John was bundled up in several blankets in a wheelchair and hooked to a portable oxygen tank. His IV hung on a pole in the back of the chair. "I'm going out there with you," said the nurse. "And we aren't staying long."
"Thank you," John whispered, his heart still thumping in his chest. He was panting like he'd just run a marathon, but he still felt like he was being suffocated. As soon as they pushed him out on the balcony, he sucked in as deep a breath as he could. The cool air felt good against the hot skin of his face. Turning his face up, the shimmering stars across the great expanse of sky seemed to lift a weight off his chest. He could still smell the stale air of the bag, but it had been diluted enough he could breathe again. Letting his head tilt back against the pillow shoved under his shoulders, he finally began to relax.
After a few minutes, John squirmed around until he had his hands free of the blankets. The heavy pressure confining his arms had made him feel restrained.
"You okay, Sheppard?"
Rubbing his wrists, John glanced at the Satedan, who had perched on the edge of the rail. "Fine . . . just needed my hands free."
Ronon nodded, as if he understood. Knowing Ronon's history, he probably did. The nurse perked up and touched her radio.
"I'm on my way," she said, turning to the two men. "I've a got a couple of patients coming in."
"I'll bring him in," said Ronon.
She looked unsure, but finally relented. "All right, but not too much longer. The Colonel doesn't need to get a chill and it's almost time for his meds."
"I'll take care of him."
With a quick nod, the nurse left. John looked up at Ronon. "Thanks." The next few minutes were spent watching the sunrise, which was spectacular. When Ronon spoke next, he surprised John.
"What happened to you?"
Ronon rarely asked questions, so him suddenly wanting to know about John's past threw the pilot off guard. And he wasn't sure why, but he started answering.
"Do you remember me telling you a little about Afghanistan?"
"Yeah. Doesn't sound like a good place."
"In a lot of ways, it isn't," John replied. The sound of the door opening made him pause. Rodney and Teyla walked out on the balcony.
"I can't believe she let you come out here. I thought she was kidding when she told me where you were. Jennifer's going to have a fit," the scientist said almost smugly.
"He's going to tell me what happened," Ronon said shortly.
"What? Really?" asked Rodney.
John glared at Ronon. He had no idea why he'd been about to open up to the Satedan, but the audience was uncomfortably large now. He looked at Rodney's expectant face and Teyla's concerned one. And then it hit him. This was his team. His family. They trusted him, no matter how insane or last minute his plan. They trusted him, plain and simple. Maybe it was time he trusted them back.
"Ten years ago I was stationed in Afghanistan. We were picking up part of a unit that had gotten trapped behind enemy lines when the fronts shifted. We got them and were on our way home when my chopper was hit. There were eight of us on board. I managed to set us down, but it was rough. We were all pretty banged up to one degree or another, but one man was seriously injured. The rebel soldiers got to us just a few minutes after we went down. They shot him."
Rodney gasped, obviously shocked. "They just shot him?"
"He couldn't walk and they didn't want to waste time hauling him. There were a lot of days when I thought he was the lucky one. They kept us prisoner for weeks, moving us from camp to camp. The last one was rough, really rough. We'd been there for . . . I don't actually know . . . maybe a couple of weeks . . . and they weren't getting anything useful out of us. The guy in charge got tired of messing with us and I guess he figured they'd just make a show out of killing us."
John rubbed his head, willing the emotions beginning to swell to back down. The feel of the bag was now rough and dry on his face, the smell of dust and mold strong in his nostrils. He could almost feel the heat of the desert, the grime of sand in his shirt.
"John, if you do not wish to continue, we will understand."
He looked up into Teyla's dark eyes, shimmering with moisture in the early morning sunlight. He rarely took the time to really see her beauty, but today it was hard to miss.
"No, I'm okay. I just needed a minute. They roughed us up one last time and then tied our hands behind our back. We were marched out into the courtyard and two Afghans from a different part of the camp were put with us. They lined us all up and proceeded to read out a list of our crimes and then they put the bags over our heads."
John rubbed his neck, feeling the drawstring tighten against his flesh, cutting in just enough to be uncomfortable. Then he rubbed his cheek, trying to rid himself of the feel of the scratchy fabric of the bag.
"We were forced to kneel in the dirt. They had us bunched together so that our shoulders touched. They wanted us to know when they shot the guy next to us. I was second from the end, but I didn't know where they were going to start. I could feel the guy's hand on my shoulder, making sure I stayed down. I could feel the barrel of the gun pressed into the back of my head. He wanted me to feel it, to know that he was going to put a bullet in my brain."
A tremor ran through his body, the shaking never completely going away. He could taste the fear again, bitter in his mouth. His heart was racing again, almost every muscle tensed.
"The first shot scared the hell out of me. It was farther down the line, but I heard him drop. I could almost feel the swirl of the dust he stirred up. They waited what seemed like forever to shoot the next one, purposely driving up our fear. They shot the guy next to me, messing up the order so we wouldn't know when it was coming. I'm pretty sure it was Ron Jackson, but I don't guess it matters much. I felt his body jerk and then fall away from me. I waited, almost wishing I'd be next just to get it over with, but I wasn't."
Clutching the blanket, John was vaguely aware of his fingers twisting knots into the fabric, but he didn't care. He was wondering why he'd thought telling about this part of his life was a good idea, because it seemed really stupid right now. He jumped when Teyla took his hand and held it. He was amazed at how warm her skin felt against his. He hadn't realized his hands were that cold. She smiled and nodded at him, giving him courage to continue.
"I lost count at where they were, but suddenly there was a lot of babbling I couldn't understand and then I was jerked to my feet. The bag was ripped off my head. The only ones left alive were me and one of the Afghans. All my . . ." John took in a deep breath and cleared his throat. "The rest . . . the rest of them were dead." He closed his eyes and rubbed hard, hoping to blot out the memory of his friends lying face down, bags over their heads, bloody sand underneath. He could still see the way the cords binding their hands dug into the flesh around their wrists.
Teyla's grip on his other hand tightened and he dropped his arm, looking at the concerned faces of his friends. He'd started this. Now he needed to finish it. "They grabbed us and marched us to the adjacent village, yelling the whole time. I caught bits and pieces, something about making an example and power and greater good. What must have been most of the village came out while they ranted and raved and kicked us around for show. I could see the people weren't happy. I'm guessing the Afghan with me was from there because there was a pretty big reaction every time they punched him. Me, not so much. When they had a big enough audience, the bags went back on and we were knocked down to our knees again. By this time I just wanted them to hurry up and get it over with."
"Oh, God," Rodney muttered in a strangled whisper.
"The next thing I knew, there was chaos. Lots of shouting and gunfire. I got knocked over. I think they rebel holding me down must have been shot, because I could feel something big across my legs, kind of pinning me down. With that stupid bag on my head and my hands tied behind my back, I couldn't move or see anything. Somewhere in there I took a stray bullet in the shoulder. Things got a little fuzzy after that. I remember fading in and out, some native guy looking down at me talking to me, and then there was a woman once or twice. I remember feeling like I was moving, one of those painful, thrown around in the back of a wagon type movements. The next time I was really coherent, I was in a field hospital."
"You don't know what happened?" asked Ronon.
"Just what the doctors told me. They said a couple of Afghans brought me to one of the units close to the fighting. They only understood a little of what they said, but it was something about not letting the rebels control them any more. They said I had not wronged them. As near as we could figure, they village was being bullied by the rebels and when they went to kill one of their own in front of them, they decided they'd had enough. A lot of the people who lived there just wanted to live their life and stay out of the fighting. Unfortunately, the rebels weren't willing to let them do that. In their eyes, you either support them or you're the enemy."
"Wow, that was lucky for you," said Rodney, almost looking relieved.
"That's the problem," John said harshly. "I got lucky. I didn't do anything to save myself. There was no reason why I survived and the others didn't. I just happened to be the last one to be killed. They just happened to decide to make an example out of us. The villagers just happened to pick then to revolt. I'm alive and there's no valid reason why. Some of those guys had families, children. It should have been one of them."
"Do not say that," Teyla scolded. "It is like when the Wraith come. Some are fortunate and escape, some are not. Many that are killed are wives and husbands, fathers and mothers. Who is to say which one should or should not survive? We should all embrace life and do the most good we can with it. As you have. Perhaps you survived so you could come to this galaxy and do great good in the battle with the Wraith. Perhaps your survival is the key to many thousands surviving."
John just looked down at his lap. "I know what you're saying and I appreciate it, Teyla. It's just . . . it's not as easy as that."
"Survivor's guilt," said Rodney.
"I got that, Rodney. The shrinks they made me see pointed that out first thing. Like I said, knowing it and having it make a difference are two different things. I just can't quit thinking about all the other ways that could have played out. It just . . . it freaks me out. It freaked me out then and it probably always will."
"It's something that never sits well with you, no matter how many times you analyze it or how much you think about it," said Ronon. John knew from the little Ronon had said that he'd survived many things he probably shouldn't have and had done so when others hadn't. If anyone knew what John was feeling, it was probably Ronon. "It's just something you find a way to live with."
"Yeah," John said in agreement. "I just have to find that place again."
"You will," said Teyla with confidence and a knowing smile.
"What is going on here?" Jennifer Keller marched through the door to stand in front of John with her arms crossed. "I understand you sweet-talked Katie into letting you out here."
Looking up at the doctor, John just shrugged one shoulder. "I needed to get out of there for a few minutes."
"He couldn't breathe," offered Ronon. "We wrapped him in blankets so he wouldn't get cold."
"I can see that," Keller said, a smile beginning to break through. She placed one hand on his forehead. "I think your fever is down a bit, but let's get you back inside. You aren't over this by a long shot, Colonel."
John just nodded, a tired lethargy beginning to take hold of his body. "I know. I just needed some air." He was dead tired and getting sleepy again, but a lot of the tension from before seemed to have evaporated. It had felt strange to share one of the worst experiences of his life, but now that he had, it was like some sort of burden had been lifted. He'd been afraid of his team seeing that much of him and now he wasn't sure why. They were as they always were, supporting and trusting. He leaned his head back against the pillow as Keller pushed the wheelchair, asleep by the time they reached the infirmary.
oOo
"Okay, Colonel, I guess you're free to go. No sign of the fever returning and your lungs are almost clear," announced Keller, draping the stethoscope around her neck. "You still need to get plenty of rest the next few days. It's going to take a little while for your body to completely recover."
John sighed. "I know the drill. I'm going straight to my quarters and Rodney promised to bring lunch in so we could play a round of chess."
"That sounds like a good plan. If I hear any rumors of you sparring or running or being seen in your office the next couple of days, you're butt is mine. And remember to finish taking your antibiotics, and I mean all of it."
"Got it," John said dutifully. "So, uh . . . "
Keller waved one had at the door. "Yes, go."
"Thanks, Doc," John said playfully as he hopped off the bed and headed out the door. He'd already changed into the clothes Rodney had dropped by earlier. Three steps out of the door, Teyla came up beside him.
"John, I was just on my way to see if you had been released yet. You are looking well."
"Feel pretty good, too. Mostly just kind of washed out and tired, but that will pass."
"Yes, it will, with rest."
Snorting, John grinned as he glanced at Teyla. "Doc got you on her payroll."
Teyla looked slightly offended. "No, of course not. I am simply pointing out what to most people would be obvious."
"I take it I'm not most people," John said.
"No, you are not. Most of the time, that is a good thing. But sometimes for you, it is not. Please take care of yourself, John. We worry about you."
Embarrassed, John rubbed one hand across his face. "I wish you wouldn't. I can take care of myself just fine. Okay, most of the time."
The stopped as they reached his door and Teyla turned to face him, placing one hand on his forearm. "We care about you and that is why we worry. Allow us that. I know that sometimes you also worry about each of us."
Looking at his feet, John shrugged. "Yeah, okay, you're right. I'm just . . . it's just that it's really hard for me to . . . well, you know. I'm pretty sure we've had this discussion a couple of times."
A large grin broke out across her face. "Yes, indeed we have."
"Hey, you wanna come in? I think Rodney's bringing food pretty soon."
Teyla shook her head. "No, one thing I was coming to tell you is that I am going to visit Telenia today. I am looking forward to the chance to visit with her and find out how she has been these many years."
"That's nice," John said. "Be sure and tell her I planted one of those explosives for her."
Grinning, Teyla nodded. "I will."
"Uh, actually I'm serious. I really did plant one for her." Shifting his feet, John wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed or not.
"Somehow, I am not surprised. I will tell her. I should only be gone a few hours and I will come check on you when I return."
"You don't have to do that, you know," John said.
"I know," said Teyla, bowing her head. John leaned forward to touch foreheads with her.
"Thanks," he whispered.
"You are welcome," she whispered back.
He watched her leave a few seconds later and then entered his quarters. Propping up against his pillows, he settled in to read until Rodney came. Twenty minutes later, he was dozing when the physicist entered with their lunch. John jerked awake almost instantly.
"What?" he said, sitting up and knocking the book in his lap into the floor.
"Doing some heavy reading, I see," said Rodney with a smirk as he set two trays on the table.
Yawning, John ignored him as he twisted to hang his legs off the bed. He leaned over and picked up the book, setting it on his nightstand. "They have anything good?"
"Depends on how picky you are. Some kind of beef-like meat in salty gravy and fake mashed potatoes. They do have the casserole of that squash-like vegetable we get from M5R-633."
"Dessert?" asked John as he walked over to the table.
"Just oatmeal cookies."
John sat down at the table and broke off a bit of cookie. "I like oatmeal cookies."
"Eat your lunch before you eat dessert or I'll tell Jennifer on you."
"Spoilsport," John returned.
"Just eat. How are the n . . . uh, are you sleeping any better?"
John paused a moment, his fork stilling for just a second before continuing its descent into the potatoes. "Getting better."
"Oh. Really? Or are you just saying that?" Rodney made a point of playing with his food and not looking at John.
"I'm getting there. It just may take a little while," said John. He still woke up nightly, the smells, tastes, and images of that day in Afghanistan mixing in with those of finding Baker's team to almost choke him. But he'd only woken twice last night and had managed to get some sleep in between, so it really was getting better. "I got the letters to the families of Baker's team written."
Rodney swallowed and sat still a moment. "I'll bet that was hard," he said softly.
"Yeah," John agreed in a strained whisper. "Hard." He shook his head and looked up at his friend. "Teyla went back to that market to visit her friend. At least something good came of this whole fiasco."
Smiling, Rodney gave a short nod. "Leave it to Teyla to make something positive happen."
"She's good at that," John agreed. "Thanks for agreeing to bring me food for a day or two. I think that's one reason Keller let me go. And I really needed to get out of there. Too confining and too many people. You can never be alone."
"I know, it's like being on public display in there," lamented Rodney. "And what's with telling you to get lots of rest and then waking you up every couple of hours to check on you or take your blood pressure or something? It's a wonder we don't check out of there more exhausted than when we went in."
John had to laugh at that. Rodney had a good point. They ate in silence for a few moments before Rodney swallowed and looked at him. "So . . . how are you doing with . . . you know . . . dealing with stuff? Are you going to be okay?"
He opened his mouth to say he was fine and then stopped. It was so automatic. Although he still saw flashes of dead bodies and blood-splattered ground, it wasn't every time he blinked any more. He could still smell the musty bag and dust-filled air and blood, but it wasn't every waking minute. Occasionally he could even feel the rough fabric of the bag scratching his cheek or the drawstring pulling tight against his neck, but a quick swipe of his hand made the phantom touches disappear.
"It's getting better. Not there yet, but it will come. Like Ronon said, you just learn to live with certain things and this is definitely one of them."
Rodney shifted uncomfortably in his chair before bringing his eyes up to meet those of John. "You know that . . . uh, well, we're here for you if you . . . well, you know."
A crooked smile spread across John's face. "Yeah, I know." He found it somehow comforting that Rodney was an inept at these things as he was. It was going to be a long time before the deaths of Baker's team or his memories of a horror long past were put safely behind him. But at least he had help this time. He had a feeling that friends were going to be the difference between being able to move on and being stuck in a nightmare forever. And who would have guessed it took moving several light years away to another galaxy to provide those friends.
THE END