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Sheppard waited. After a few seconds he reached down but Kavanagh shrank away from his hand.

"Just...go away and leave me alone." His voice was raw and broken, and a tremor ran through him every few seconds.

"Not going to happen."

Kavanagh took a shuddering breath.

"I can take care of this myself."

"I'd be a lot more likely to believe that if you hadn't just fallen on your ass."

"Yeah, well, I'm on the floor now, aren't I? How much further do you think I'm going to fall? Look, I don't need you. I can crawl back to bed if I have to. I've done it before."

"Not leaving till you're in that bed." Sheppard's voice said he could wait as long as Kavanagh could.

Kavanagh closed his eyes. His head made a frustrated thump as he let it fall back against the wall.

"Fuck you."

Sheppard bristled.

"You want to crawl? Fine. I'll stand here and watch, since you're too damned stubborn to let me help you. Hell, it might be entertaining."

Kavanagh's eyes flew open. Sheppard expected to see anger, but there was only confusion, suspicion, and a tinge of something Sheppard couldn't identify. Sheppard kept his lips set and determined.

After a second of scrutiny Kavanagh looked down. He gulped something back, pulled his pyjamas around him, and held up a hand, mutely. Sheppard took it and pulled him to his feet. He staggered as he stood and Sheppard caught him, one hand on his chest and an arm behind him.

Kavanagh froze, his eyes darted up to meet Sheppard's.

"It's me, Kavanagh. Just me. Settle down."

The eyes didn't leave his. Sheppard sighed and and raised both hands.

"Fall down and break that beak of yours, it's your own damn fault. Don't think I'm going to catch you."

"The Kavanagh nose is a family trait, I'll have you know. And I'm proud of it." His voice was hoarse and shook a little, but the snide note Sheppard was so used to hearing was beginning to creep back in. Sheppard hadn't thought he'd ever be happy to hear that tone in Kavanagh's voice, but it was oddly reassuring. In spite of his threat he kept close and alert as Kavanagh pushed away from the wall and shuffled toward the bed.

They were almost to the bed when Kavanagh stumbled and pitched forward. Sheppard caught at him as he went down, but he elbowed him in the face, making no secret of it being intentional. Sheppard grabbed him by the back of his pyjamas and twisted one arm behind him. Kavanagh howled with pain and anger, then clenched his teeth, his breath shaking in his throat.

"Liar!" he ground out.

Sheppard wanted nothing more at that moment than to knock his head against the floor till it lost some of its blocklike quality, but he settled for gripping his pyjamas with both hands, hauling him the rest of the way and shoving him none too gently down onto the bed. For a few heated seconds he fought back, then Sheppard got him in a grip he couldn't escape. It wasn't hard, Kavanagh fought like a girl. Sheppard held him firmly, his hand and chin pinning Kavanagh's head down, hoping to God he wasn't bitchy enough to bite him. The closest place to Kavanagh's mouth was his neck, and Sheppard swore to himself, if Kavanagh tried giving him a hickey, he would hit him. Circumstances or no.

Kavanagh didn't bite. He stopped fighting and sagged against Sheppard like a rag doll. Sheppard gritted his teeth. There he went again, blowing hot and cold. It took all his effort to keep his voice even when he spoke.

"You done?"

Kavanagh made a helpless gesture with one hand and pressed it against his face. A sob that seemed to come all the way from his guts jerked through him, left him gasping, dry heaving gasps that shook his whole body.

"It makes me so tired. So fucking tired. I just want to go to sleep and not wake up. Just one night, all the way through. It's been happening every night since you got into my head. Every fucking night, and it won't stop. It won't stop. I could handle it before, when I could sleep a few nights a week, but this--I can't, I just can't--"

Sheppard swallowed the lump that rose suddenly in his throat as he remembered McKay's voice over breakfast one morning, the sharp, sarcastic bark of laughter as McKay described one of Kavanagh's more spectacular blunders. "Asked him if he was still asleep or just resting his brain. He just gave me that look, of course."

"Nothing you can take for it?"

"I've talked to doctors about it. I'm allergic to everything they wanted to give me. I swear, somebody out there really hates me."

It occurred to Sheppard that there was probably more than one person who felt that way about Kavanagh, but it didn't seem right to mention it. He scratched his head.

"Have you tried, uh...?" He made a gesture.

"That just makes it worse. Believe me, I've tried everything. Cold water is the only thing that helps. And it always comes back. Whenever I--" He sniffed dully.

"--whenever I have the nightmares."

"Hey. We'll fix it. There has to be a way."

Kavanagh seized a handful of Sheppard's uniform as if it were his only link to sanity.

"I don't think so. I don't think there is any way."

"Well...I'm telling you there is." Sheppard wasn't nearly as sure as his drawl implied, but he'd learned a long time ago the importance of not letting it show when he was bluffing. Kavanagh laughed, a ragged, hitching sound that scraped at Sheppard's nerves. He tensed sharply, his hand biting into Kavanagh's arm, but Kavanagh didn't even flinch, just let his head roll sideways and looked up at Sheppard, his eyes red and tinged with delirium.

"You know, Colonel Sheppard, before you--before...that happened, I had it all under control. The nightmares, the, the flashbacks, this--everything. I had it down to a couple nights a week. Sometimes just one night. Then you, you just--" He trailed off, shaking his head, the laugh still rattling in his throat.

Sheppard knew the words should make him angry, but suddenly he had the strangest feeling of being in a glass bottle, detached, while the world moved by him. A thought struck his mind like a splash of ice water, clearing and cooling as it dripped down the edges of his consciousness.

He's not accusing. He's just telling you. All this time, he's just been trying to tell you.

His heart thudded painfully.

"Kavanagh..." The word stuck in his throat. Kavanagh didn't answer, but the crazed light in his eyes faded and the coughing laughter turned to sobs. He hid his face against Sheppard's neck. Sheppard's hand came up, cautiously, to stroke his back and Kavanagh's arms went around him, pinching his ribs as Kavanagh's hands found new holds in the back of his uniform and dug in.

For several minutes Sheppard sat, holding him, responding when his arms tightened, when his hands clenched so hard his whole body shuddered. He had no other answer for the desperation in Kavanagh's grip.

Finally Kavanagh's grasp loosened a little, though the sigh he gave told Sheppard it was more from sheer exhaustion than from any lessening of the frustration. Sheppard's hand kept up the soothing, circular motion on his back. Kavanagh jerked suddenly and struggled. Sheppard's muscles clamped down automatically, he knitted his brows and bent his head to Kavanagh's ear, murmuring, promising, not even sure what he was saying. Whatever it was, it had to be good, because Kavanagh made a choked sound and clutched at him again. Sheppard's jaw clenched, he swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry and thick. There it was, the ache inside him, hurting worse than it ever had but in the way a sore muscle aches when you work out the stiffness. It was an honest, natural pain, one he was familiar with and understood. He closed his eyes and gathered Kavanagh's trembling body a little closer to him, finally sure he was doing precisely the right thing.

It was another minute at least before the tremors subsided completely. Sheppard couldn't have told the exact second, he was too busy measuring the throbs of Kavanagh's heart, timing them against his own. Slowly he realized that Kavanagh's breaths were coming at regular intervals, and that his muscles had stopped jumping. He held him off a little and looked at him closely.

"Think you could sleep now?"

"I...don't know." Kavanagh didn't look up. His voice was softer than Sheppard had ever heard it.

"Here." Sheppard reached past him and thumped the bed. Kavanagh lowered himself to it and closed his eyes. Something about the way his hair lay on the pillow sent images stabbing through Sheppard's mind: the bloody razor, the dullness of eyes that would never see again, the red streams leaking away around his fingers...Sheppard swallowed. He lifted his hand and let it fall lightly over the tangled curls, thinking Kavanagh was already dead to the world, but his eyes opened, pale and uncertain in the dim light. They stared at Sheppard as if trying to understand something that made no sense.

"Are you going to stay?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"So you don't have another nightmare. I figure if I give you a good whack on the back of the head every time you start twitching, you'll be sleeping like a baby in no time."

Kavanagh's look was incredulous and a little unsure.

"You're...kidding, right?"

"Ok, I'll make it a light whack. Good enough?"

The bloodshot eyes stared. Kavanagh blinked and squinted at him, looking suddenly too tired to think.

"Hey. Sleep." Sheppard gave his shoulder a gentle nudge and he turned back to his pillow, the confused look still on his face.