A/N: Thank you, once again, to all who have reviewed, and to Drufan for the beta and help with chapter titles.
Ch. 19
Looking Through the Looking Glass
Sunshine, blue skies and wind carrying sea-spray and smelling of brine – the complete antithesis of where he'd been taken up into a dart – did very little to distract John from the fact that he was still out in the open. Although he felt himself doing a good enough job at pretending to ignore it. The only flaw in his mask was his limited appetite, constant pounding heart, and perpetual tension in his muscles. His appetite and tension made it obvious to the others, but he didn't care. He would sit outside in the open, day and night, if he had to, if it got the paranoia to shut up.
Then there was Teyla, whose idea it had been to take lunch outside. John thought it a good and harmless enough plan until he'd stepped out onto the pier to be hit with the desire to turn tail and run back inside. For once, his stubborn streak was working in his favor, because no way was he going to give into cowering behind walls.
However, because of his painfully obvious discomfort, Teyla was uncomfortable, and was hiding her guilt about as well as John was hiding his unease.
"We can take the rest of our lunch in your quarters," she suggested.
John shook his head, pushing for a modicum of content. "No, this is fine." He stabbed his plastic fork into the beige and brown lump that was some kind of casserole. "I needed the fresh air."
"Not to mention a little sun," Rodney muttered. "I bet you can glow in the dark."
Sheppard smirked. "Pot and kettle, He-Who-Wears-Sunscreen-Like-Clothes."
"I thought we agreed not to keep giving each other Indian names, Man-Whose-Hair-Defies-Gravity."
"My memory's been a little shoddy, lately, Dances-With-Coffee." John's eyes moved fast to and from the sky. "It's nice out here," he said, part truth and part cover-up for the action. "I'm glad we did this."
His sincerity was enough to get Teyla to relax a little. John didn't relax until he announced that he'd eaten all he could handle and they were back inside. There was no happy medium for him in any of this. He was uncomfortable anywhere but his room, then uncomfortable in his room when he caved to the impression of hiding from the world. He fought back against both but it was exhausting. It was also making Carson less than pleased.
Once back inside Atlantis, John parted from his team heading toward the mess to dump the trays while he veered toward the infirmary for his next check-up. He was early, yet Carson was waiting and ready with the needed instruments out and the scanner warmed up. First came the required weigh-in. Carson pulled the privacy curtain as John removed his shoes, then blue sweater, tossing it onto the bed. Beckett liked a two-way visual assessment in numbers and current visibility of bone. The scale said a pound was gained, but the body wasn't exactly advertising it. John could still see his own ribs down to the floaters and the point of his breast-bone. Also, there was the fact that he'd just eaten to consider. A full stomach added on ounces.
"You have been eating, though," Carson said as he jotted the number down. His eyes moved from the clipboard to Sheppard. "Right?"
John nodded slowly. "I have been eating."
"But your appetite is still giving you trouble."
"Not as bad if I'm eating in my room."
"So why don't you eat in your room?"
John placed his hands on his jutting hip-bones and gnawed his lip, figuring what answer would be best to give. He wasn't really up to admitting the heavy stuff. Confession was a one-shot deal for him and he was saving it for Heightmeyer and the mandatory counseling to make it worth it.
"I shouldn't have to," he said at last.
Carson jotted something else down before finally tucking the clipboard under his arm to regard Sheppard full-on. "Aye, well... between your body and your brain it's your body that needs the most attention. Sometimes, it's best to focus on a problem one piece at a time. Get your strength back up to par, then the rest won't be so much of an ordeal."
John backed off the scale toward the bed and hauled himself onto the edge. "I prefer handling issues on the move if you get my meaning." He straightened enough to give Beckett easier access to his chest. Carson placed his stethoscope over John's heart, listened for a moment, and then released the bell to free up his hands so he could type the results into his PC tablet.
"And your daily walks don't cut it?" he asked.
John shrugged. "Doesn't get my heart pumping the way I like. Running distracts me from the outside world since I'm moving too fast to really notice it. You can't help looking around while walking."
Carson gave him an apologetic grimace. "Well, it'll just have to do until myself and your bone-density says otherwise." He moved on to listening to John's breathing. After that it was time to get scanned. Carson led the way to the machine.
"I need something I can do outside my quarters besides eating, Doc," John admitted. "I feel like I'm barely ever out of there." He stretched himself out on the cool bed of the scanner, pressing his arms to his sides and his palms flat. "I need to expand my horizons before they shrink any narrower." The machine, already humming, hummed louder as the bed slid into the opening. It was less than a minute long process and he was sliding out when he'd barely slid in. Carson and the tech were already mumbling with their heads bent toward the view-screen, pointing out this and that using their pens.
John sat up, periodic shivers turning into solid shivers. "So, what's the verdict? Can I get dressed and stop freezing my ass off?"
"Sorry, lad," Carson said inattentively, still preoccupied with the screen. "Everything looks better. Bones are healing nicely and bone-density more to my liking. Not that you're ready to start eating up the miles in a fun-run, but you won't have to worry about potentially breaking another rib if someone so much as pokes you. Oh, and it looks like you don't need the sling anymore."
Sheppard fought against wrapping his arms around his chest to conserve warmth. Why did Carson always have to have it so damn cold in here? "G-goody."
The Scottish doctor's head shot up in alarm. "Oh, colonel, I'm sorry, lad. Didn't mean to leave you freezing." He hurried to the bed, grabbing John's shirt to bring it over.
The sling might not have been needed, but John's collar-bone still felt tender, and he winced as he pulled his shirt on. "Does that mean physical therapy time?" Physical therapy meant more exercise and an activity beyond watching the same movies for the umpteenth time.
"Aye, that it does. I'll be setting up a schedule for you. Listen, John, you don't need an excuse to leave your quarters. Well, not any more at any rate. Yes, granted, I'd prefer you eat more. Nevertheless you're doing fine enough that your strength is now at where you can wander about the city without worrying about collapsing in exhaustion... as long as you don't over do it, of course. If you start getting tired, you either rest or head back, but you're at the point where you don't need a set time and place to do a little walking about."
"Wow," John drawled flatly, "progress. Didn't think it was possible."
Carson's response was a wry smirk and a good-humored, "Off with you, now you cheeky bugger."
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Vee'rana hummed and giggled like a sadistic little imp crouched in the shadows where John couldn't see her. He didn't expect to see her, not with the queen looming over him, her clammy hand like fish-skin caressing the bare skin of his chest, searching for just the right spot.
"Human hearts can beat at such impossible speeds with the right incentive," she purred. "Dear Anja's heart beat faster than yours. It had fluttered, light and fragile as a little bird. Poor Anja and her little ones. Did she deserve to die, John?"
She pulled her hand back and slammed it into his chest, pressing, crushing his sternum. Molten pain melted his bones. "Did you deserve to live?"
John screamed.
He opened his eyes and gasped. Shadows played games with him, morphing shape until settling into the familiar geometries of his room and things. The humming and screaming faded like echoes. His heart, however, wouldn't stop trying to pulverize itself and the pain...
The pain wouldn't stop. He brought his hand to his chest, rubbing, feeling the details of his breastbone right through skin and cloth. And the pain - like a fist trying to squeeze him. John curled up against it, shaking and choking back a sob.
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So much time and so little to do. Sheppard wandered just to be wandering, reacquainting himself with his city beyond the short, round-about circuit that had been his assigned route for his walks – never far from his room and always where human traffic was at least present if not heavy. He hadn't minded it since it had been a means of getting out of his room, although, he doubted he'd be able to go back to it if he had to. It was one of those situations of being content with what you had until gaining something better.
Wandering eventually brought him to the gate room where he stood at the top of the steps, feet slightly spread and hands in his jeans pockets. He would agree with Beckett that this was some kind of progress. Real progress – truly getting back on the horse called 'his life' – would involve stepping through that giant alien ring dominating the Gate Room floor... and being excited about it.
He had the desire, just not his usual impatience for the moment of truth. Too premature after being gone for so long, he supposed. Kind of hoped so, too, because if he couldn't bring himself to step through another event horizon, then he might as well pack up now.
John turned away from the ring to face the control room that was bustling but not really busy. He could see Elizabeth, bright red shirt within the beige and blue, leaning over a console as a tech pointed something out on a laptop.
It was so every day. John felt like he was outside looking in. Literally outside, elsewhere, watching through a monitor or view-screen. Or maybe a scene through a window, a home or museum exhibit. Look but don't touch. That was the consequence, the bane, of being gone so long. There was a rhythm he was once a part of that he now had to reintegrate himself back into, and a hesitation to do so out of fear of making that rhythm stumble.
It made him feel... not so much like a stranger, nothing that extreme. It made him feel like the space he had occupied he no longer fit into, and until that space reformed or a new space was discovered, then he didn't really fit anywhere. He just was, drifting like wayward debris.
It made being in the Gate Room, near the control room, uncomfortable; like he wasn't supposed to be here.
Maybe you don't deserve to be here. Ever consider that?
The muscles of John's back quivered, rippling through the rest of his body, and he twitched his head. He would have walked in just to say hi but Elizabeth would probably take it as a cue that he wanted to talk. It wasn't that he didn't want to, just that Elizabeth looked busy and it wasn't as though he had a lot of conversation subject matter on hand. She sometimes dropped by during lunch or dinner to see how he was and to catch up, anyways. He could wait until then.
Plus he was getting a little antsy the way people kept glancing in his direction.
John turned away again, leaving fromthe gate room. He already knew Ronon would be out running. He'd always gone longer than Sheppard and John doubted he'd altered the routine. It would be another twenty minutes before the runner returned. So John headed to the gym.
Just like with Ronon, Teyla had her morning rituals that a person could set their watch to. He found her in the gym unfolding from one of her complicated stretches and flowing to her feet sinuous as a cat. She retrieved her sticks from the bench, turned, and jumped. "Colonel!"
John flinched in response feeling suddenly like a voyeur even though he'd only been there for less than a minute. "Hey Teyla," he said. "Sorry I spooked you."
Teyla walked lightly on bare feet to the center of the mat. "You did not 'spook' me," she said with a small smile. "I was merely not expecting you. The gym is very quiet during this time."
John hunched his shoulders in a wince. "Oh. Well... Carson gave me the go-ahead to walk where I please and it turns out there's not really all that many places to go. Anyway, I just thought I'd drop by and, uh..."
Teyla twirled one stick, curling the corners of her mouth in a smirk. "Watch?"
John winced again. "I was going to say observe. Less dirty sounding. Since I can't really participate, then I thought I could learn via a visual aid. Namely you. That okay?"
Teyla's smirk shifted to a genuine smile. "That is fine, so long as it involves only observation."
John smiled back and made himself comfortable on the bench. He was sure Teyla was simply catering to his need to stifle boredom. The routine she ran through was complicated, with twists and turns that made his bones ache just watching. He'd always considered stick-fighting like a dance, but what Teyla was doing was more Cirque De Sole-like acrobatics: beautiful, hypnotic, art in motion, while at the same time freaky in what his brain kept trying to register as impossible. Each move morphed liquid smooth into the next, a foot cutting through the air to set down on the floor while the torso continued to move, an arm arching overhead then out for the next arm to follow immediately after. No stopping, no time allowed to question the next set of motions, all watery grace as though unhindered by bone. It was like a circle with no beginning or end. Something M.C. Escher would have totally appreciated.
It further solidified John's opinion that he would never reach the point of ever beating Teyla unless she was off her game. It left him slack-jawed with awe, trepidation, and a little relief that she had never stepped things up to this current level. She could have done him some serious damage.
It was also making him self-conscious: hyper-aware of the ineptitude of his own body, the lingering aches and the depletion of muscle.
At least your body's still working, still alive... unlike certain people.
John twitched his head quiet.
It was a thirty minute work-out that covered Teyla's skin in a thin film of sweat, matting her hair and leaving her breathless. She tossed her sticks aside to grab her towel and wipe the film off.
John stared at her, still gaping. "Wow. That was just... wow."
Teyla grinned. "Much of what you saw was merely for exercise purposes. In a fight, many of the moves would have left me open and vulnerable on certain sides."
John gave her an odd look. She didn't act like she was messing with him, or down-playing her skills. "Hate to be on the wrong end of the actual fighting moves," he said.
Teyla dabbed her face with the towel. "But someday you will be if you wish to progress." She set the towel on top of her tawny home-made bag. "I did not ask how you were this day. Have you had breakfast? I did not know you had started waking this early. Dr. Beckett usually has us wait to visit you so that you can receive as much sleep as possible."
John's heart thudded. "Yeah..." he squeaked, cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah, well, I'm usually an early bird. I mean I try to sleep longer but half the time just lay there staring at the ceiling." Listening to creepy dead girls hum and hoping I don't dream. "I finally figured, what's the point? So just got up."
Teyla's smile turned a little strained. A humoring kind of smile. "Ah." She didn't believe him, but neither was she going to harangue him about it. "Then you can join me for breakfast. We can have it in my room for a change of scene."
"How about I take a rain check for now," he said.
Teyla's lips dropped into a frown. "John..."
He held up his hand. "I know, I know. I'm going to have breakfast, I swear. I just need to work up a little more of an appetite first. Do some more walking around, maybe. I'm usually not eating this early, anyways. No point in altering the schedule just when my body's starting to adjust."
Teyla was skeptical and didn't try to hide it. "All right. I do need to clean up. Perhaps... in an hour?"
John nodded, keeping his relief internal. "An hour sounds good."
Teyla, still uncertain, left first as though to avoid having to say anything further. John dropped his gaze to his hands. She always acted so careful around him, like he was something delicate, walking a fine line she was trying not to push him over. It was hard not to notice while easy enough to ignore. He let her have her discomfort since he couldn't really dispute it.
But, sometimes, he wondered about it. He knew it was because she worried, cared. Yet a part of him – some cringing, cautious, paranoid part of him – spawned other ideas.
Think she still trusts you?
He wouldn't blame her if she didn't. He just hoped to high heaven she still did.
Think you deserve it?
John looked up. It was too quiet. His thoughts were always too loud and crowding in the silence and solitude. And to think it wasn't that long ago he'd craved solitude. Hell, he still did off and on, usually for about however long he could keep back the silence. He stood and hurried from the gym back into the distracting motion and hum of the occupied corridors.
John's feet brought him to the various labs until stumbling on the one he'd wanted. He hovered within the entrance, leaning up against it to watch. Not that there was much to watch. Just McKay hunched over his laptop clacking at what should have been impossible speeds. Curiosity got the better of John getting him to sidle up and peer over Rodney's shoulder.
"Uh, McKay?" he said.
Which caused Rodney's body to jolt and his hands to slip, adding a couple of typos to his formula. "Sheppard, jeez!"
John pointed to an equation. "That should be 1.2, not twelve."
"Not that it matters if I end up succumbing to heart failure, but thanks for the input," Rodney sneered. He typed in the correction. "So what do you need?"
John shrugged. "Just dropping by to see if you had breakfast yet. I was going to join Teyla in an hour if you wanted to join us."
"Already ate," Rodney said, still typing.
John stiffened, feeling like he did that time he'd called his best friend up to come over to play, only to be told his supposed best friend already had a friend over. "Oh. Okay, never mind, then." This was usually the part where John would have left, but he still wasn't hungry and didn't have any other place to go. So he hovered without really intending to, trying to decipher what Rodney's new formula would help solve today.
The clattering clicks of the keyboard stopped, Rodney's hands hovering intently over them. "Yes, colonel?"
"Just trying to figure out what you're doing," John said. "Calculating volume?"
"For the desalinization tanks. The water pressure's been a little low so we either have a leak or another clog." Rodney shuddered and muttered, "Better be a damn leak."
"Oh, yeah. Teyla told me about your run-in with the squid thing."
"What ever she had to say on the matter is probably an exaggeration."
John cocked an eyebrow at McKay. "This is Teyla we're talking about."
"Oh, and that makes her incapable of ever stretching the truth?"
"I have yet to see the contrary."
Rodney sighed, his whole body sagging into his chair. "Whatever. Listen, do you really find this fascinating? Because I find that rather hard to believe as it's boring me out of my skull. So there's obviously something else you want. Just ask it, please, that I may continue this monotony in relative privacy. Not that I don't appreciate company but this is starting to piss me off and the hovering isn't helping."
John immediately stepped back. Rodney hunched and the manic typing resumed. "Thank you. Now what else do you want?"
"Just," John started rubbing at the back of his neck contritely, "to hang out. You guys are always coming to me, I thought I'd come to you for a change... if that's cool. If you're really that busy I'll leave..."
Again the typing stopped, Rodney's back going rigid. He looked up from his laptop and swiveled around to face John full-on, his demeanor considerate as well as mildly surprised. "Really?"
John nodded. "Really. I was going to ask Ronon about doing stuff but he probably just got back from his run. I was with Teyla for a while until she had to go clean up..."
Rodney's body slumped as though his strings had been cut. "Oh. So that left me," he said, adopting an expression uncomfortably similar to a chastised dog.
John gave him a helpless shrug. "I... thought you might be busy." It was the truth. If Rodney wasn't finishing an all-nighter then he was usually just now easing himself back into what ever he'd left off the other day. John's choice of company had been like natural selection, going for the least busy and easiest to find. "I didn't want to bother you if you were."
Rodney's eyebrows arched toward his hairline as he considered John's reasoning, then frowned. "It never stopped you before." He stared at John, assessing him. There was a time Sheppard would have met that stare head on and tried to now. It was hard to, really hard, hindered by an irrational impression that if Rodney stared for too long he was going to see something that John would rather he didn't see. As ridiculous and illogical as it was, John's eyes dropped to the table, the floor, flitting everywhere except at Rodney. He felt like his insides were trying to shrivel up, and whatever appetite that might have been forming vanished like a snuffed candle.
"Well, um," he began, but his brain refused to fill in the blanks. "I..." he cringed. "Sorry?"
Rodney's eyes rounded over. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I didn't mean that... I wasn't trying to accuse you of anything. I was just saying is all. No, I appreciate the consideration." The chastised dog look was gone, booted out by panic. Where as Teyla walked on eggshells around him, Rodney fluctuated between being himself and about to have a nervous breakdown in trying to make amends for being himself.
It was a universal attitude with everyone, Ronon included try as he might not to be obvious about it. They all wanted the same thing, and that was for life to go back to the way it was before John had been taken. They wanted normal, but not at the price of John's well being. Which was all fine and good until it reached the point of him being treated like thin glass. He understood well enough to keep his mouth shut about it but, sometimes...
Sometimes it made him wonder too much; wonder what he was doing wrong, how he was acting different, and whether or not they were afraid for him or of him.
Obviously he hated it, but didn't have a damn clue how to change it, so didn't try so as to avoid the risk of making things worse. For all he knew, not saying anything was just as bad.
This is why he needed noise, company, distraction. He couldn't afford to think too much if he wanted to stay sane.
Considering if you're even sane anymore.
John cleared his throat to shut-up his thoughts. "Well, it's not like you're obligated to entertain me. You have stuff you need to do and all."
Rodney nodded stiffly. "Yes, true. But it's not like it has to be done right this minute. I could probably go for a snack or something. Or you could proofread this," he jerked his thumb at the laptop, "when I'm done."
John smiled. "Sounds like a plan." It was a forced smile, already making his face ache. He had a sudden desire to bolt from the room. Ignoring it spread the ache through to his whole body.
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Did you deserve to live?
John woke with a start, a gasp, heaving chest, hammering heart, and pain. The pain was fading but the rest remained strong. There was no rational thought left in him, only reaction. He jumped from his bed grabbing his blanket and pillow, walking fast out of his room, socked feet whispering across the smooth floor.
His room wasn't safe anymore. Never had been. Rodney had awoken him to the fact. He needed someplace new, maybe dark or small or...
Invisible. There was still no thinking involved. He was running on pure instinct driving him down one hall after another, straight to the Jumper bay and into the nearest Jumper. He busied himself laying out his blanket and pillow on the bench. It took the bay door shutting and the cloak to engage to finally settle his rapid heart. John dropped onto the bench.
He didn't think, couldn't afford to or he would think too much. He stretched himself out on the bench tugging the blanket up to his chin, closed his eyes, and listened. There was no way she could find him; no way anyone could find him.
But he still thought he heard humming.
TBC...
A/N: Poor, poor John (hugs him).