John was so angry about what had happened in the mess hall that he practically stomped his way to his room. Once there he realized he really was tired. Too tired to hold on to his anger. Heaving a sigh, he stretched out on his bed and closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep. But he drifted into a dream world. Into shadows and light. He shifted restlessly as soft voices whispered in his head and John tried to listen to them. He tried to make sense of what they were saying. He knew it was important somehow, but he couldn't hear them clearly enough. They would whisper at him then fade away, as if mocking him.
And then he saw Chaya. She came to him, offering to share with him again, and John accepted. Maybe she had the answers he sought. Answers to questions he didn't even know he had. But this time when she surrounded him in her light, it wasn't bright and warm and glowing. It was cold and dark, and John felt as if he were suffocating. He struggled to take in air, his fingers flexing hard into Chaya's flesh. He heard her laugh softly, and whisper that he did not need to breathe. To trust her. Then the whispers were back, but they welled up in his head, too many voices, too loud. They were screaming and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't be…
With a strangled cry, John came awake. His skin was slick with a cold sweat; he could feel himself shaking, his heart racing and his head pounding. John buried his face in his hands, trying to calm his breathing, only to realize that the pounding wasn't only in his head. Someone was knocking on the door.
"Coming..." he croaked out, as he slid off the bed and stumbled to the door. He thought it open and wasn't the least bit surprised to find Beckett standing there. John narrowed his eyes against the spill of light from the hallway, but he still managed to glare at the doctor. "I slept! Now leave me alone!"
John turned, meaning to walk away, but his knees buckled and his vision grayed for a moment, then he felt a strong hand gripping his arm, and the next thing he knew he was sitting on his bed. John rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the stubble against his palm. Then he closed his eyes as Beckett raised the lights. "Why won't you leave me alone?" John mumbled, not caring that he sounded like a petulant child.
"Hush," Carson chided, as he gripped Sheppard's wrist to take his pulse. When the major lifted his head to glare at him again, Carson studied him. He didn't miss the pale face or the sheen of cold sweat, and his finger twitched over the rapid pulse. "Bad dream?" he guessed.
"What was your first clue?" John snapped, then he sighed and apologized. "Sorry...guess Rodney is rubbing off on me."
Carson chuckled. "Yes...well...he has that effect on people. So, Major, do you want to talk about it?"
John shook his head, regretting it when his temples started throbbing. For a moment he had almost forgotten about the headache that seemed to plague him of late. "Nothing to talk about, doc. I don't even remember it." A blatant lie, but John was getting good at those, so he was pretty sure Beckett would buy it.
"All right." Carson let it slide, but his eyes still mirrored his concern. "I want to give you something to help you get a good nights sleep."
"No!" John practically snarled at Beckett.
Carson was neither impressed nor cowed. He rose from his crouched position and locked eyes with Sheppard. "Look, major...I'm trying to help you. And if you want to go back through the Gate any time soon, you'd best let me."
John wanted to argue with him. He wanted to scream his frustration at Carson. But he knew this situation was no ones fault but his own. The anger that had made him feel tense eased a bit as John sighed, then nodded. "Fine… do what you have to do," he allowed. Because, bottom line, he wanted back through the Gate.
"Thank you." Carson looked relieved. "Now…I want you take a nice hot shower to relax. I'll be back with some food and a shot. Once you get some real sleep, you'll feel much better."
"Yeah...I know." And John did know. He offered a lopsided smile. "I'm sorry I've been such a pain in the ass lately."
Carson chuckled. "No problem. You've had a lot to deal with since you came here, Major. None of us were prepared for what's happened, but at least everyone else knew about the Stargate project, so we had some idea of what we were getting in too. But you came into this without a clue. You've handled the pressure and the responsibility admirably. But it's catching up to you now, laddie."
John nodded. He knew he was stressed, and he knew he needed to deal with it. And maybe a good night's sleep would make the damn dreams fade away. He pushed up to his feet and was relieved when he didn't waver, but he noticed that Beckett looked poised to catch him if need be. "I'm okay...I'm gonna go shower now."
"Good. I'll be back soon," Carson promised, then he headed out the door.
John watched him go then headed for the bathroom. He stripped, stepped into the stall then thought the water on. The heat seeped into his skin, chasing away the chill that had settled over him. He stayed there for a time, letting the heat also ease away the tension in his muscles. By the time he got out he felt almost groggy, but in a good way. After drying off, John got dressed in sweat pants and a tee shirt. He was toweling his hair dry when a knock sounded. Knowing it would be Beckett, John called out, "Come in!"
To his surprise, it was Teyla who entered, and she held a tray of food. "What are you doing here?" John asked.
"I ran into Doctor Beckett," Teyla replied. "He thought you might enjoy some company for dinner. He had to take care of something, but he wanted me to let you know that he would be back here by the time we finished eating. He said you would know what that meant."
"Yeah...I know." John rubbed the towel over his head one last time then tossed it in the corner. He then took the tray from Teyla and set it down on the small table that was kitty corner to his bed. "If you're willing to risk me snapping your head off for no good reason, then I'd love the company," John told her. And it was mostly the truth. He did enjoy Teyla's company. Most of the time.
Teyla smiled as she joined him at the table. "I will risk it," she allowed. Then she tilted her head as she studied him.
John frowned at her. "What?" He couldn't tell what she was staring at.
"So that is how you get your hair to do that," Teyla stated, gesturing at his head.
"Do what?" John countered, as he patted the top of his head, feeling the tufts against his palm. Then he realized that was what she meant and laughed.
Teyla arched an eyebrow at him. "Doctor McKay said that you used barrels of something called...gel?"
John arched his own eyebrow at that. "Did he now?" he drawled, but he wasn't offended. Rather he was amused. "I'll have to have a talk with Rodney later." That said, John pulled out a chair and gestured for Teyla to sit down. Then he joined her and they dug into the sandwiches that she had brought. Turkey sandwiches. It seemed that everyone knew what his favorite food was.
As they ate and chatted, John found himself beginning to relax. He couldn't rid himself of the anxiety that was like a hum beneath his skin, but he felt less jumpy that he had before. Less unsettled. He even managed to eat almost the entire sandwich, and was contemplating having a slice of Athosian sweet bread when Teyla mentioned McKay's theory about John transporting himself to the Wraith mother ship. At that moment John's appetite vanished and anger welled up inside him.
"Doctor McKay is very excited about what this might mean, Major. I would imagine that you are as well," Teyla was saying.
"You'd imagine wrong!" John snapped, as he shoved his chair back and rose to his feet. "McKay's theory is wrong. He's full of shit!" Feeling agitated again, John started pacing.
Teyla looked surprised by his behavior, and concerned. But she was also puzzled. "Full of shit?" she repeated.
John stopped pacing to glare at her. But then he shook his head and told himself to calm down. This wasn't Teyla's fault and he didn't need to bite her head off, even though he had warned her. Forcing himself to reply calmly, John said, "Never mind, Teyla. I just don't want to talk about this, okay?"
Before she could reply, a knock sounded. John stalked over to the door and palmed it open. No surprise to see Beckett standing there.
"Ready for your shot?" Carson asked, cheerily.
"Can't wait!" John didn't mean to growl at him, but he couldn't help himself.
Carson's smile faded. "What's wrong?"
Teyla replied before Sheppard could. "It is my fault," she said. "I upset him." She turned to the major. "I apologize."
"It's not your fault, Teyla." John made himself answer her softly. "I'm just tired."
"I will go now." She nodded at him, then Beckett, before slipping out the door.
Carson had entered the room during the exchange and now he was studying the tray on the table. He could guess which plate was the major's. "You need to eat more," he stated.
John turned on him. "Stop playing mother hen!" he snapped, and he was instantly sorry. Rubbing the vein that was throbbing in his temple, John mumbled an apology. "Sorry."
"I know." Carson pointed to the bed. "Get comfortable and I'll give you that shot." As he spoke he pulled a syringe out of his lab coat pocket and popped off the top.
"How long will I be out?" John asked, as he pulled back the covers and settled in. He wasn't thrilled at the idea of being out of the loop for too long a time. If something happened and he was needed, he wanted to be able to wake up and be functional.
Carson seemed to read his mind. "If something happens and you're needed, I'll be able to wake you. Otherwise you should be out for ten to twelve hours."
John winced. "That's a long time." He watched as Beckett pushed up his sleeve and swabbed his arm. Then the prick of the needle going in, and instantly John felt soothing warmth hit his blood stream.
"You need the sleep, Major. Just trust me on that one." Carson swabbed his arm again then he reached for the blankets, tugging them up over Sheppard, smoothing them a bit. "Now close your eyes and let yourself go, laddie."
John heard Carson as if from a distance. Already he could feel himself slipping into darkness.
oOo
He slept without dreaming. When John opened his eyes and peered, blearily, at his watch, it was to find that eight hours had passed. He threw back the covers and stumbled into the bathroom to relieve his bladder. Afterwards he splashed cold water on his face and as he reached for a towel, John realized he did feel better. But still a bit unsettled. Despite not dreaming, John hadn't awakened on his own. He had heard someone whispering his name.
Huffing out a sigh, John stripped and stepped into the shower. He kept the temperature cool and showered quickly. By the time he was finished he felt surprisingly alert. And hungry. So he dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, laced on some sneakers, then he headed for the mess hall. It was still breakfast time, so he grabbed what passed for eggs and managed to eat half of it before nausea forced him to throw the rest of it away. John figured the nausea was a side effect of the sedative. He'd had that happen once before in the past. Still, he risked a last sip of coffee before heading out to see Weir.
She was in her office and looked surprised to see him.
"Got a minute?" John asked.
"Sure." She gestured for him to enter. "I didn't think you'd be awake yet. Have you seen Beckett?"
John dropped into the nearest chair then shook his head. "No. Was I supposed too?"
Elizabeth leaned forward, resting her forearms on her desktop. "Just make sure you check in with him."
"Sure." John wasn't about to argue with her, not when he was hoping to sway her into letting him go back to work. "But...I feel better. A lot better."
"You do look better," Elizabeth allowed, as she studied him through lidded eyes.
John wasn't sure he liked the way she was looking at him. He felt a little bit as if he were under a microscope. But he plunged ahead anyway. "I was thinking, since I'm feeling so much better, maybe you could un-ground me?"
Elizabeth looked disappointed. "John...one night of sleep is not going to work miracles and you know that. You need time to heal."
"I'm not injured!" That came out sharper than he had intended, but he was getting tired of being treated as if he were some invalid. "Look...how about letting me take one of the jumpers to the mainland. McKay is always complaining about wanting to go on missions that aren't so dangerous, and we can scout out the northern section some more."
"They're already on a mission," Elizabeth countered, then she leaned back as if waiting for his reaction.
John exploded. "They're what?" He came out of his chair, eyes blazing. "They're out there without me?" He thumped his chest. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Elizabeth remained calm in the face of his outburst. "I was thinking that you're the only one who is grounded, Major. Your team isn't."
"But they're MY team. I should have been informed." John wasn't about to let this go.
"You were sleeping." Elizabeth was still calm.
John ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up more than usual. "Who's ranking officer and who's flying? You didn't trust McKay to fly them, did you?"
The corners of Elizabeth's mouth twitched, as if she were fighting a smile. "Markham is ranking and they didn't need a jumper. It was a simple walk through the gate."
"Good choice," John conceded with ill grace. But he was still angry. So it was with difficulty that he managed to keep his voice soft as he asked, "Where are they?"
"MS2-641," Elizabeth replied. "Teyla has been there, and she said that the people left ten years ago. So it's abandoned. We sent a MALP through and Rodney discovered some energy readings. It should be a simple in and out, Major."
John felt a bit pacified. But only a bit. "I should be with them." He was speaking more to himself than to Weir. But then he locked eyes with her. "Look...we both know that I'm no good at sitting around and twiddling my thumbs."
Elizabeth nodded at that. "I know. As a matter of fact I've been talking to Beckett about ways of keeping you busy."
"Why don't I like the sound of that?" John said, and he frowned at her.
"Remember the last department head meeting?" Elizabeth queried.
John made a face. "Vaguely.
Elizabeth looked amused. "Well, we discussed cross training for everyone on Atlantis. And you are the perfect candidate to start the program."
"How do you figure?" John asked, although he was pretty sure he really did not want to know the answer to that. There was a gleam in Weir's eyes that was a bit unsettling.
"You've had first aid training from when you flew medivac, and Beckett wants to further train you," Elizabeth explained. "Being better experienced for medical emergencies while in the field is a good idea. Which, if you recall, were your own words at the meeting."
John winced and rubbed the back of his neck. He could feel the tension and the start of another headache. Sighing softly he replied, "Yeah...I vaguely remember saying that. But...I was talking about Ford." That evoked another wince. He missed the kid. Looking up at Weir, John could see a glint of sadness in her eyes.
Elizabeth nodded. "I know. But the fact of the matter is, you have the background training and you're the best qualified on your team. In fact, if you're feeling up to it, Dr. Beckett intended to see if you wanted to start your training today."
"I feel up to it, I told you I'm fine." John was feeling testy again.
"Good." Elizabeth looked pleased. "Oh...and I also spoke to Dr. Zalenka about helping out in the lab."
John was surprised by that. "I'm not a scientist," he reminded Weir.
She smiled at him. "I know that. But you are a math whiz and they could use your help."
"Knew I should have kept that under my hat," John mumbled to himself.
"It's in your file," Elizabeth pointed out, and she was smiling.
John had forgotten about that. He pinched the bridge of his nose then sighed. "Fine...whatever," he conceded. "I know when I'm whipped."
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow at that, but let it slide. "Go see Beckett," she prompted, gesturing towards the door. A polite dismissal.
"Later," John drawled, as he headed out. He wasn't happy about this, but he figured it would be better than wandering around Atlantis with nothing to do. But his mind was on his team, out there without him. It felt unsettling to John in a way that he couldn't even explain to himself. And he didn't want to think about it. So he focused on getting through his exam with Beckett without snapping at the good doctor, and he did well.
"Ready for your training?" Carson asked, as he watched Sheppard slide off the exam table. Seeing the major's surprised look, he explained, "Doctor Weir contacted me to let me know she had spoken to you about it."
John realized he should have figured that out. Maybe he was more tired than he realized. Without thinking, he lifted one hand to rub his temple, trying to ease the dull ache that seemed to have settled in for a long stay. He didn't see Beckett's concerned look.
Carson's eyes narrowed. "Headache?" he prompted.
"Not really," John replied, a little too hastily. And he dropped his hand back to his side.
"Just so you know, I plan on sedating you again tonight," Carson stated. "For the next few nights, actually."
John was not expecting that, nor was he happy about it. "Forget it! I agreed to one night, period."
Carson crossed his arms over his chest and pinned the major with a look that brooked no arguments. "You'll do as I say, laddie, or I'll keep you in the infirmary on prescribed bed rest."
"You wouldn't?" But even as John spoke, he knew that Beckett would. He let his anger go, since all he was doing was making his headache worse. "You know what? That's fine. I don't care." John sighed. "So...are you going to train me or what?" He wanted to focus on something else. Anything else.
"Did you get a chance to read that book I gave you last month?" Carson queried.
John nodded. "Yeah...I read it a while ago, I just forgot to bring it back. Sorry."
Carson shrugged. "That's fine. Do you remember what you read? The basics were mapped out pretty clearly and it covered pretty much anything you might come across. Of course you'll need proper training for application, but so long as you have the basic idea, it will be easier for you to learn the best way to handle pretty much any and all emergencies."
"Test me," John offered. "Then we'll know what I remember."
"Fair enough." And Carson did just that, firing off question after question. And John gave him textbook perfect answers. After a few minutes Carson stopped, staring at Sheppard in astonishment. "How in the bloody hell do you remember all of that from a month ago?"
John didn't think it was that big a deal. "I have a good memory," he said, rather dismissively.
Carson gave him an appraising look. "How good a memory?" he prompted.
"Good." John shrugged, then he turned away and pretended interest in the blood pressure cuff. "I should probably practice this, right?"
"Don't change the subject, Major," Carson countered, snatching the cuff away. "How good a memory? Eidetic?"
John sighed, knowing Beckett was going to be like a bulldog with a bone. "Not like they portray it on TV, no."
Carson looked excited. "Ever been tested for it?"
Before John could reply, Carson got paged on his radio. John listened to him talk, ask a few terse questions, then he hid his relief when Beckett told him they'd have to get back to this later. "Everything okay?" John asked, with genuine concern.
"Nothing serious," Carson replied. "Possible allergic reaction to something in the Botany lab. I shouldn't be long."
"Guess I'll hang out with Zalenka then," John replied. "You can find me in the lab if you need me." He hoped he would not be needed. He wanted Beckett to forget this entire conversation.
Carson nodded at him, distractedly. He grabbed his medical kit then headed out the door.
John was relieved to see him go. Then he headed out himself. He did go to the lab and Zalenka did put him to work and, surprisingly, John rather enjoyed himself. He spent so much of his time playing soldier that he had forgotten how much he actually liked to problem solve. So a few hours passed without notice, until Zalenka deposited a tray of food in front of him. Automatically, John glanced at his watch. Noon on the dot. He narrowed his gaze at Zalenka. "Beckett or Weir?" he asked, smoothly.
Zalenka had the grace to look embarrassed. "Both."
"Figures." John sighed then rubbed the back of his neck. His headache just would not go away. Maybe eating would help. So he took a bite of the turkey sandwich, shaking his head a bit, and went back to the problem he was working on. A graph of sorts that had Zalenka and Kavanagh stumped.
It was an Ancient code they were trying to break and, oddly enough, it made a weird sort of sense to John. The fact that it was numerically based was part of the reason why, he was sure. But he found himself wanting to solve the problem, if only to rub it in Kavanagh's face. And Rodney's, once he got back to Atlantis.
John took a few more bites of his sandwich while he worked, but then he had to throw it out. Once again he felt nauseous. Only this time it wasn't easing up and after a few minutes he had to excuse himself. John barely made it back to his room before he was violently sick. Once he had emptied his stomach, he sat on the floor, shaking a bit. Once the nausea finally receded he got up, brushed his teeth and splashed some water on his face. Then he made his way to his bed and curled up on his side. In a heartbeat he was asleep.
oOo
John didn't dream. But he still felt uneasy when he woke up, two hours later. He took another shower to shake off the grogginess, then he headed for Weir's office. Hopefully, he hadn't been missed.
But as he reached the gateroom he heard Grodin announce, "Incoming wormhole. Dr. McKay's IDC."