Carson Beckett hovered near the head of John Sheppard's bed, studying the readouts from his monitors. Pleased by what he saw, he sat himself down in the chair Rodney McKay had vacated just a few minutes ago and settled into his watch. The doctor had a feeling the chair beside the former Colonel's bed would be occupied fairly regularly until he either woke up or was discharged entirely. He wouldn't put that particular feat past his old friends.
Carson glanced away from the monitors and over to the former Colonel in question. John Sheppard was sleeping peacefully. A feat the infirmary staff had achieved only after administering a strong sedative. Even so, Carson could still see Sheppard's eyes moving restlessly beneath their lids. They might have calmed his body, but there was a good chance the sedative had done nothing to calm the man's mind. That would come later, he assumed, and with more sessions with Former Petty Officer Sean Fitzpatrick.
Carson wondered, and not for the first time if those sessions were still a good idea. The former Navy SEAL had quite literally pushed John over the edge. Carson and his temporary team in the infirmary had caught him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him back over in the nick of time, but the damage had been done. Though Carson wasn't quite sure damage was the right word for what Fitzpatrick had done. It was more like he'd rebroken old bones that hadn't fused together in quite the right way so they could begin the process of healing in the proper alignment. Still, it had been a brutal, painful thing to watch from his office in the training room.
Carson shuddered as he recalled what he had seen. How small and lost John Sheppard had seemed on the ancient CCTV he had been parked in front of so he could watch the entire thing. Before, sitting in on the session to observe Fitzpatrick's first day with John had seemed like a good idea. Now, as Carson watched Sheppard's limbs twitch in his sleep, his face a mass of cuts and bruises, he was wondering if it really had been such a great idea. The things John had said… they were private. As his doctor, Carson would never, ever betray that trust, but it still felt like a betrayal to the man before him that he had witnessed any of it at all.
"Atlantis dropped out of subspace and Woolsey ordered me to open fire on every hive ship we came across."
"And did you?"
"I did. Between me and some poor kid they forced into the control chair at Area 51, we destroyed them all."
Carson let those words run through his mind again. They were just as heavy and oppressive as the first time he'd heard them over that grainy, jumpy CCTV footage. That was a part of the past that Carson had shared with John. His part of the nightmare that had unfolded that day when Atlantis crashed to Earth.
He could remember bits and pieces of it with perfect clarity. Other parts he had to force himself to face. The rest were just dark, murky memories Carson would rather leave alone to gather dust in the far recesses of his mind.
When he had been sent back to Area 51 to man the Ancient's weapons platform in Sheppard's stead, everything had started out fairly routine. He'd hopped up into the chair, readied the drones, and prepared to defend the base from the kamikaze darts that were headed their way. And for a while, he was able to. But then more and more Hives started appearing in the skies above Earth and the empty Darts he had been destroying were suddenly filled with people as the Wraith began to cull. Carson couldn't keep targeting them, or the Hives any longer and had refused to destroy another until the IOA and the leaders of the SGC came up with another plan. But rather than find a better alternative to killing innocent civilians, Carson had been forcefully removed from the chair and thrown in the brig. He would later learn from Hank Landry that they put some young soldier, a boy barely out of basic, who had been given Carson's ATA gene therapy no less, in the chair instead. Without even telling the young man what he was doing, they ordered him to blast every single Wraith Hive out of the sky. And lord help them all, that was exactly what that young man and Colonel Sheppard did once Atlantis returned to Earth.
One billion, seven hundred thirty-two million, eight hundred and sixty-five thousand souls lost that day, and for what?
"I thought I was the only one around here who did that…" a hoarse, scratchy voice asked him from the bed. Carson shook himself a bit to clear his head and saw that Sheppard was now awake and smiling at him. Well, smiling as much as he could with a swollen lip.
Carson rose from his seat, checked the monitors, and then fiddled with the IV drip that was busy replenishing the severely dehydrated former Colonel's fluids from a pole beside his bed.
"What do you mean?" he asked softly, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the handful of other patients in the infirmary.
Sheppard shifted in his bed and then bit back a groan as the movement apparently aggravated his broken ribs. And Carson had made that diagnosis personally. He'd done the scans himself.
"Drifting off like that. I thought I cornered the market on getting lost in my thoughts."
Satisfied that Sheppard was still stable, Carson pulled his chair closer to the side of the bed so they could have a proper conversation no one would overhear. After observing John in the training room with Fitzpatrick, Carson felt like he owed the man that much at least.
"Hardly," he said quietly.
"How long was I out?" John asked, itching at the nasal cannula Carson had placed there earlier when they'd first brought Sheppard in. That sight was not something he was going to forget any time soon, his oldest of friends thrashing on the gurney and feverish with dehydration and trauma. When John started pulling the cannula off his face, Carson did not object.
"About 12 hours," he answered.
John fixed swollen eyes on him. "I'm assuming you saw all that?"
"Aye, laddie, I did. If it's discretion you're worried about, you can rest assured, whatever happens in the training rooms stays between us."
"So… no one else saw?" Sheppard asked with that raspy voice of his. He looked so pale and tired and Carson had a sneaky suspicion the man hadn't been sleeping or eating much since arriving here. But it was his question that was breaking Carson's heart. Not just because he was still feeling guilty for watching what had gone down between John and Fitzpatrick, but also because his old friend was so terrified that someone had seen. Carson knew for a fact that, apart from John murdering someone in cold blood on the base tomorrow, no one was going to be throwing him off this program. Especially not for trying to work through his past trauma.
He was also probably worried that Rodney had been around to witness it all, too. "Nah, there was no one else, John."
John seemed to contemplate this for a moment, his twin black eyes focusing on some point on the wall somewhere over Carson's left shoulder. There was a cut on his temple that had needed a few stitches to close up and a bruise over the bridge of his nose. Fitzpatrick had really done a number on him, but Sheppard had held his own well enough. The former Navy SEAL was now sporting a broken nose that Carson had taken particular pleasure in resetting himself.
But the real shift had been internal. In the midst of all that madness, all that violence, Sean Fitzpatrick had managed to do something Carson figured no man had ever been able to do before. He'd gotten John Sheppard to open up about his past. And not only that, but to explain, in all its horrible detail, exactly what Woolsey and the IOA had made him do all those years ago. Carson had heard the stories, but never directly from the man himself. The man who had actually lived it.
For that reason, and that reason alone, Carson Beckett would allow Fitzpatrick to keep working with John.
"I'm glad you're here," John was saying.
Carson shook himself away from his thoughts again, surprised the former Colonel would say such a thing. "Why's that, laddie?"
"I've been meaning to ask you something…"
"Oh," Carson understood then where this was going. "You want to know about that last day, don't ya?"
John looked exhausted beyond measure, but it was painfully obvious they needed to have this conversation. Even though it was going to be extremely difficult.
The former Colonel nodded.
"What do you remember?" Carson asked.
"I pretty much remember everything that happened after you and Rodney showed up in the control chair room," John began, his voice still so hoarse and barely audible over the natural noise of the infirmary. "But I only remember bits and pieces of how you got there."
"Ah, I see," Carson murmured, steeling himself for the arduous task of pulling his dusty memories back out of their corners. "It's actually a very strange tale. After I refused to shoot down any more Darts or Hives, those salty bastards threw me in the brig." Carson remembered, massaging at his wrist. "Bastards nearly broke my arm that day. That's where I was when Landry eventually found me. He got me out and was explaining how you lot had arrived with Atlantis and were destroying all the Hives. He n'Sam had been tryin' to hail you on the comms and let you know the Hives were full of people, only Woolsey wasn't answerin' his calls. That's when we learned from Colonel Carter that the IOA was giving orders for you to take down all the Hives. Safely tucked away in their underground bunker, no less. The bastards.
"Anyway, we knew we needed to get back onto Atlantis to stop ya, and right quick, so Landry led me to some underground warehouse beneath Area 51. They actually had a puddle jumper down there, John! Apparently, someone had smuggled one back to Earth without us knowing it. We were just about to commandeer it when the Marines showed up." Carson had to pause as the memories of that day washed over him in one great wave of sadness. Such a waste. It was all just such a waste.
"They just... shot him in the back like it was nothing. A General for heaven's sake, gunned down right there in front of me by some idiots who had no idea what they were doing."
John said nothing as Carson paused to dab at his eyes, the emotion becoming too much for him for a moment. What those boys had done… it was something he was never going to forget, and one that had haunted his dreams for decades.
"After that," Carson made himself go on, "I flew the jumper to Atlantis, Rodney got me back on board, and we made our way over to the chair room to warn you." Carson swiped at his eyes again, irritated that the tears still came so easily, even all these years later.
"It wasn't your fault, you know," Sheppard finally spoke up. "None of it."
Carson tried to believe him but refusing to stay in the chair was one of those elusive what-if moments that plagued his dreams and never gave him a moment's peace. What if he'd just stayed there and Landry had found another way to get through to Atlantis? What if Carson never even started his work on that infernal ATA gene therapy?
But hadn't there been some light at the end of that tunnel? Hadn't heroes like Rodney McKay, Cameron Mitchell, and Samantha Carter stepped up to make sure that every single one of those bloody bastards paid for what they did? Sheppard probably didn't see it that way. He'd been forced to flee and now the thought of others doing what he couldn't, and dying in the process, must be eating him alive.
Carson was still mad at Rodney for telling Sheppard about Cameron and Sam. They'd all agreed to wait until John had eased back into things a little more before burdening him with all of that. And yet, knowing John, the man had probably tricked it out of Rodney. He was good at that.
"You know that goes both ways, Colonel Sheppard," Carson said, realizing too late that he'd gotten his friend's rank wrong again. "None of that was your fault, either."
"I let all those people die."
"What choice did you have? They didn't tell you those Hives were full of people, and you were just following orders. Bloody hell, laddie, have you been living with this guilt the entire time you've been away from us?" The thought terrified Carson. No wonder Sheppard was having panic attacks and passed out in the training room. He'd been left on his own for 18 years to deal with secrets so heavy Carson was amazed he hadn't cracked under the weight of them sooner.
"It doesn't matter now," John said sadly, looking away.
"How do you figure?" Carson asked.
"I completely lost it in the hallway with Woolsey and then again with Fitzpatrick in the training room. How could Landry let me stay on and lead the expedition after all that?"
Carson shook his head. Not to confirm John's suspicions but to convey his utter shock at what he was hearing. Carson leaned forward to make sure his next words were understood completely by the man in the bed before him. John reluctantly focused his swollen eyes on him.
"Now you listen to me, John Sheppard. There isn't one living soul on this Earth who would ever expect you to live through what happened and not be changed by it. And quite frankly, my friend, I'd be more concerned if you hadn't been affected by it.
You put your trust in men who betrayed you, John! And it wasn't some little underhanded deed. It was reprehensible , and no one comes out the other end of something like that unscathed.
Bloody hell, do you know the number of hospitals I dragged Rodney to, just hoping that we might find you? Or how hard I fought to keep your name outta tha Wraith Registries? I just couldn't accept that you were gone, because you couldn't be. I knew you'd survived it all and knew, somewhere deep down in those twisted insides of yours, that none of this was your fault. That it was something that had been done to you, not by you.
So no, John, no one is going to take Atlantis away from you because you're human. All we're asking is that you make your peace with it and trust us when we tell you that no one blames you. Then we can get back to the business of gettin' Atlantis back home."
"Well, you certainly don't ask for much," John finally said, fighting hard to stay awake and still managing a smile.
"Nothing more than I know you can handle," Carson offered back, patting the arm John had resting on the side of the bed.
Even though he was fighting sleep, John still apparently had questions. "What about after the explosion? Rodney told me a little, but I still don't have all the details."
But Carson could tell John was fighting a losing battle. He squeezed his arm as the former Colonel's eyelids drooped. "Later, John. There will be plenty of time for all that."
Sheppard started to argue, but eventually, he lost the battle and slipped back into sleep. Carson continued the watch.
It wasn't fair, he thought as he was lulled back into deep thoughts by the steady rise and fall of Sheppard's chest. Of all the people involved with what happened that day, none had suffered more than John. There was nothing that man wouldn't do, no lengths he wouldn't go to protect the people of Earth. And in one unimaginable act of betrayal, all that had been ripped from his hands. He'd been tricked into destroying countless lives, and in the process, it was destroying him right back.
Carson could understand his anger and reluctance to come back now. People had been glossing over it since they'd received word the Office of Acquisitions had tracked Sheppard down. But now, Carson had seen first hand how much all of this was affecting his old friend, and it was breaking his heart.
He'd been there in the Gateroom when Sheppard had stood before Woolsey and told the man he would murder him if their paths ever crossed again. He'd felt John's rage when that moment had nearly come and he'd tried like hell to fulfill his promise in the hall. The fact that Sheppard was still standing was a testament to his character, Carson figured. Not many men could go through something so traumatic and come out the other side of it still walking and talking. Perhaps it was a little naive to think so right now, but Carson had a feeling John was going to be alright. It was going to take a while, and an incredible amount of work on the Brigadier General's part, but there was no doubt in his mind that they would get him through this.
Carson knew the kind of man Sheppard was. How hard John was going to fight to get his life back, despite their conversation of a few minutes ago. Not only to ensure the safety of his men, but for himself as well.
Landry had asked Carson yesterday if he thought John was still up to the task after his altercation with Woolsey. Carson had assured the General that he was. He had yet to once regret that assessment. Fitzpatrick came highly recommended and Carson would be monitoring things every step of the way. There was no reason, between all of them, that they couldn't get John Sheppard back up to full fighting strength.
If they could only get him to let go of the past, and all the fear and guilt that came with it. Carson let his eyes linger over the damage left behind by their last attempt, wondering again if his decision to let this continue was a good one. Or if he was making it for the right reasons.
Spying that John's IV bag was nearly empty, Carson pulled his tired body up from his chair and worked quickly to switch the empty one out for a fresh one, careful not to disturb the slumbering General.
He stood there for a moment or two, just musing over how differently their two lives had played out, considering how intertwined they'd always been. John had been forced into exile and Carson and found his way back to Edinburgh where he'd been working as a doctor for the last 18 years. After ensuring no one could continue his gene therapy research, of course.
Oh, how he wished he could wake his friend up right now and ask him about those years after the Wraith. Carson was dying to know where he had gone and why he wasn't in the Nevada hospital Carson had sent him to. He'd spent years trying to track down the med-evac pilots that had taken Sheppard away from Atlantis after the explosion that had nearly cost him his leg. John had been near death that day. So close, in fact, Carson hardly put up a fight when the Air Force demanded they pronounce John KIA. Having him back now felt like a miracle. Just like that day Rodney showed up at the door of his flat and told him to pack his bags.
Carson still had a lot of questions for his old friend. John probably still had his fair share as well. As soon as the former Colonel woke up again, Carson imagined they would pick their conversation back up right where they'd left off. But for now, Carson was content to just sit and keep watch.
Life went on beyond the curtains shielding Sheppard from the rest of the infirmary. Occasionally someone would pass by, their shadow visible as the curtains rippled, but no one came in to disturb them. At least not until Rodney clamored in an hour or so later.
"He wake up yet?" the scientist asked as he breezed into the room. Carson had taken the only chair so he stood standing near the side of John's bed.
"Yes he did," Carson answered, stretching out his tired joints and listening to them pop. "I finally got him back to sleep about an hour ago so you'd do well to keep it down over there."
"Good," Rodney said, ignoring Carson as he set the tablet he'd brought along with him on a table just outside the curtain. He found a chair a moment later and added it to the already tight space. "He looks like he could use it."
Carson watched him, knowing full well that Rodney was still miffed about not being allowed to sit in on John's session with Fitzpatrick earlier. Carson had issued a very firm no and the astrophysicist's nose was apparently still out of joint.
"Did he say anything to you?" Rodney asked stiffly.
"Aye, we talked for a bit."
"And?" Rodney pressed him.
"And if you want to know the specifics, you can ask the man himself when he wakes up!"
"Fine," Rodney snapped. "But would you at least tell me how he's doing?"
"The General is going to be fine," Carson said, still trying to get used to the new title. "As soon as he's finished with this last IV, he can go back to his quarters."
"So... no life-threatening injuries?" Rodney asked.
"Not this time." Carson knew Rodney was asking after more than just the physical injuries Sheppard had suffered, but Carson was too tired to play games with him right now.
"Well he looks terrible," Rodney grumbled, casting his eyes to the figure on the bed.
"You should have seen him when they first brought him in."
"I still can't believe that Fitzpatrick guy really beat him up like that."
"Our friend gave as good as he got, Rodney," Carson pointed out, recalling Fitzpatrick's nose with glee. "And believe it or not, Sheppard earned most of those cuts and bruises on his own while Fitzpatrick was trying to defend himself."
"Really?" Rodney asked, sounding shocked.
"Aye. I'll not tell you the specifics of what was said, but our old friend is going to need all the help and support we can give him if he's to face what's been done. You'll need to be gentle, Rodney."
"I'm always gentle!"
"Rodney McKay, you are about as gentle as the wood chipper my Da used to keep behind the barn on our farm.
"Well, I can't help it if no one understands my methods," Rodney grumbled and Carson had to laugh.
"That may be, but I was being serious, Rodney. He's gonna need our help once he wakes up."
"They really did a number on him, didn't they?" Rodney asked, his voice dropping.
"Aye laddie," Carson replied. "They did."
Both men looked back over at John who was still sleeping soundly. Carson couldn't help wondering if things might have been different had they all approached this with more care and concern from the beginning. If Woolsey hadn't jumped the gun. Perhaps if he'd let Landry know Sheppard had been located so Rodney and Carson could approach him the right way. Then maybe they wouldn't be here now, watching a very bruised and very swollen John Sheppard sleep. They were all lucky John had kept them busy in that corridor yesterday, otherwise, Carson might have done something to Woolsey himself. What had the man been thinking, ambushing Sheppard right there in the middle of the SGC? It was probably for the same reason Rodney had suggested. In that twisted, irrational little brain of his, Richard Woolsey needed to apologize. Well, that apology had nearly gotten him killed.
"It's so weird to see him like this," Rodney eventually said. "On Atlantis, it always seemed like nothing could touch him, you know?"
"Aye, and he's always been such a private man. I worry he'll not let us back in again."
Rodney considered this for a moment. "If that's the case, we just send him back to Fitzgerald. Maybe he can box it out of Sheppard next time."
Carson let himself laugh a little at that, stretching out his tingling legs. He'd been sitting for too long in one position and was going to pay for it later. Which deity's idea had it been to have bodies age? After a lifetime of hard work, didn't Carson deserve a chance to rest without his damn joints screaming bloody murder?
"Maybe," Carson mused, ignoring the pain, "as long as they keep it out of my infirmary."
"Just like the old days," Rodney said, chuckling. "I lost track of the number of times he wound up there. Sometimes it felt like he was getting injured on nearly every mission we went on."
"Sometimes he was!" Carson said, remembering all too well. "For a while there I was beginning to wonder if perhaps you lot were doing it on purpose."
"With him, you never knew," Rodney said seriously. "He was always throwing himself in the line of fire."
"He did it to protect you. All of you."
"I know that," Rodney replied. "That's why I hate seeing him like this. There isn't anything I can do to help."
Carson nodded, knowing exactly how the scientist felt. He, too, had been observing the struggles Sheppard had been going through since arriving here. And not just that reunion in the corridor with Woolsey. Sheppard had been on the brink of an attack during the re-enlistment Ceremony too, though he'd done a very good job at trying to hide it. He was going through something and Carson had a very good idea what it was.
"It's some kind of PTSD, isn't it?" Rodney asked, seemingly reading Carson's thoughts.
"I like to call it Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome me self, but yes, I believe that is what our friend is going through at the moment."
"Shit," Rodney breathed.
"My guess is late-onset. He was most likely triggered by something that happened before he arrived here, judging by how visible his symptoms are." It was clear to Carson that John had been expending exorbitant amounts of energy just trying to hold it all in. But reliving the past over and over again was beginning to take its toll. It was no longer so easy for the former Colonel to brush it all off and pretend that nothing was wrong. And now the cracks were starting to show. It lead Carson to the conclusion that he'd been at it for some time. And long before he'd arrived at the SGC.
Had John self-diagnosed himself yet, he wondered? Did he realize yet what was really going on? Something told Carson the answer was probably no, judging by what Sheppard had said (and not said) to Fitzpatrick earlier.
John was just trying to get through each day as best he could and the last thing he likely wanted was to have to sit down and try to analyze what was happening to him. Or to go out and seek help to make it stop. He was too internal for that and would much rather attempt to handle it all on his own. That was probably why the problem had progressed to the level it had.
But that was just who John Sheppard was, Carson reminded himself. Though the doctor wished he could walk right up to the man and shake that stubbornness and refusal to ask for help right out of him sometimes.
Carson could only imagine what all this must be like for John. To see the past every time he closed his eyes. It must hold so many horrors for him: from what happened with the Hive ships to seeing Teyla's neck snapped right in front of him, or Ronan stabbed in the back. It was a small wonder John Sheppard hadn't gone completely mad. But he hadn't because he was the strongest, most loyal, most selfless man Carson Beckett had ever met. He didn't deserve one iota of the agony that he'd been forced to endure for nearly two decades. Bloody hell, it was enough to make Carson want to shake his fists at the sky and yell up into the heavens at the unfairness of it all…
"So what do we do now?"
It took him a moment to realize Rodney had just asked him a question. "Pardon?"
"I asked you what we should do now," Rodney repeated, shooting him an irritated glance.
"I supposed we just keep on doing what we're doing."
"You mean, you're really going to let Fitzpatrick work with him again?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Carson asked and Rodney gestured angrily over at John. "Rodney, we might not understand the lad's methods yet, but I read Fitzpatrick's CV myself. The man knows what he's doing. We must sit back and trust the process."
"Even if it lands Sheppard in your infirmary every time?"
Carson waved him off, "Would you relax, Rodney? I have it on good authority that Fitzpatrick is not planning any more fights. That was a one off deal to break the ice a bit."
"Destroy the whole iceberg, is more like it," Rodney muttered.
"I would never let our friend continue his training if I ever thought it was doing him more harm than good," Carson pointed out, more than a little annoyed that he had to.
"I know," Rodney said. "I'm just worried about him."
"Aye, laddie," Carson said, letting his eyes linger over John again. "So am I."