Puppet Master

Chapter Thirty Two - Familliar Faces

There was a clock on the table of the nurses' station.

Had anyone ever checked the city's inventory they might have been surprised at the number brought from Earth, smuggled into socks or tucked amongst stacks of CD-ROMS. Aside from the military issue watches, which operated under their own, independent rules and were used only for the timing of action, other Earth based time pieces were next to useless.

There were no hours in Atlantis. The city's computers ran to a different scale, one determined by the travel of the planet beneath them, and one of the first jobs of the science department had been to synchronise the clocks of the SGC computers to run in partnership with their new home. It had been an excuse used many a time by McKay when confronted by a nagging Beckett. It wasn't that he didn't sleep, he excused, it was that Atlantis ran on a thirty hour day, and that the nights were shorter, and that technically he was acclimatizing.

Despite this many of the city's new inhabitants clung to the familiar, and the presence of clocks was a reminder of home. There was one on the wall of Heightmeyer's office, her own personal item, and Aiden had confessed to sleeping with one beside his bed. Enough people followed old rules to often necessitate specification when outlining a period or date, depending on whether a person was talking of Atlantis 'minutes' or Earth 'hours.'

Carson, Sheppard decided, had been talking in terms of Earth hours, and the only judge he had for that currently sat on the table at the nurses' station. He stared at the simple square, white affair with large green numbers that could be seen clearly from his seat, and two black hands. He sought comfort in their regular ticking, and watched the shadows move about the room.

According to the clock it was three in the early hours of the morning, though Sheppard had no way of knowing whether that referred to the time in Atlantis, in New York, or in Calcutta. The sky beyond the infirmary windows was dark, but not pitch black, a deep grey colour indicating either heavy cloud or an early dusk.

McKay was still unconscious. He had yet to regain any colour to his skin, pale and grey in the sterile light of the infirmary, although his breathing had evened out and the mask had departed several hours previously.

Beckett had stayed for a while, gone for sleep, then returned again. The face of the nurse routinely checking on McKay had changed three times. Teyla and Ford had been four times, the first two together, the third and fourth independently. Teyla confessed with honesty that she couldn't sleep, and Aiden excused that he'd been training, that he was hyped up on coffee, that he'd been watching old movies with Markham, that he was just passing.

The Lieutenant, Sheppard decided, was a terrible liar.

He hadn't moved from the chair once in all nine hours, except to take care of essential, intimate business. A nurse had brought him coffee, and several sandwiches had appeared during one of his naps.

He must have fallen asleep, because though it seemed he had only closed heavy lids for a second when he opened them there was Elizabeth, standing over him with a mug of something steaming in each hand.

"What?"

"I went to get soup," she reminded him, and passed him a mug.

He wrapped his hand around the pottery, heat seeping into his fingers. "Vegetable," he guessed, and sniffed. "Surprise."

"Kalpicum. A root vegetable, I've been told." She slipped into the chair beside him, resting the cup on her knee. "Has anything changed?"

"No." He yawned, and his jaw popped. "I wish he'd hurry up, this chair is doing little for my back."

"Carson offered you a cot," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but that's the easy option. The minute I lie down I'm ready to sleep for a week. I want to be there," another yawn, "when he wakes up."

"Ah."

"Familiar faces, Beckett said."

"True," she admitted, and took a sip of the soup.

Sheppard followed suit, burning his tongue on the hot liquid. He chewed dubiously for a moment and then relaxed. "Not bad. Could do with some salt."

"It's bad for you," she criticised.

"So is picking fights with an enemy who wants to suck the life out of me. I know which one I'd rather live with."

He saw her smile, and take a mouthful of the soup. "It does need more salt," she agreed, with a small smile.

Sheppard tilted his head from side to side, bones cracking audibly. "It's better than the meat broth from last week, " he said conversationally. "Those crunchy bits were disturbing."

There was no response. He looked up in time to see her smile falter.

"John –"

He followed her gaze down to the bed and saw his friend's fingers twitch.

The pot mug cracked against the floor where it fell, vegetable soup congealing quickly on the tiles.

"Beckett!"

Sheppard was over the bed, one hand on McKay's shoulder, the other gripping the bedrail. Carson appeared on the opposite side looking ruffled, waving his hands at Sheppard and ushering him to a distance.

"Come on, now." The physician glanced at the EEG monitor over his shoulder, and then looked back to the bed. "We know you're in there, now open your eyes for me."

McKay's lips parted and Sheppard caught a rasped jumble of words, an incomprehensible slur. He saw the scientist's eyes shift restlessly beneath his lids, his breathing quickening.

"That's right," Beckett encouraged. "Try to wake up. It's okay."

The lids cracked open enough for Sheppard to glimpse a flash of dim blue. Lips spoke around silent words, and a shudder rolled through McKay's body, his ankles jerking against the restraints.

Sheppard saw Elizabeth's hand wrap loosely around Rodney's. "It's alright," she soothed, and he realised there was a word missing.

No names. His insides knotted at the uncertainty.

Several words slipped from the jumble, a desperate: "please," and a softly keened: "I'm right here."

John's hand squeezed his friend's shoulder tightly. "We know," he said, his chest tightening at the terror in his friend's voice. "We know everything." And he prayed to any deity that might be listening, dear god, let this have worked.

Don't let me have failed him.

"No – you don't believe –"

"Yes." Another squeeze. "Yes we do. I've not lied to you yet, McKay, I'm not about to start now."

Slowly his words seemed to penetrate, McKay's eyes widening, his body stilling. Beckett instantly had his pen light out, flashing a bright beam into McKay's eyes and prompting a grimace and a whisper.

Sheppard, leaning closer to the bed, heard his words. He had to stop himself from falling, his knees suddenly weak.

"What did he say?" Elizabeth asked.

He lifted his head and grinned so wide it hurt. "Couldn't repeat it." He glanced at Beckett. "He was questioning the doc's parentage."

He saw a flush of warmth bloom across Weir's face as she broke out into a smile, the tension evaporating from her shoulders, and for a moment he was afraid he wasn't the only one close to falling. She swayed, and placed a steadying hand on the mattress. From across the bed he heard Beckett breathe: "Thank god," years dropping away from the Scot's face.

"John."

He looked down and saw, to a relief so intense it was painful, two slightly glazed eyes staring up at him. "Right here," he replied, firmly.

"You know that I –" McKay glanced at Elizabeth, his voice breaking. "That I'm –"

"That you're you?" He patted his friend's shoulder warmly. "Yup."

"We know," Elizabeth repeated, softly.

The physicist closed his eyes and Sheppard looked away, deciding he hadn't seen any tears.

"How do you feel?" Carson asked, his hands working at the IV plugged neatly into the back of McKay's hand.

"Road-kill," came back a whisper, cut off by a dry cough and then a reflexive swallow.

"Nauseous?" Beckett guessed.

The scientist shifted his head tiredly against the pillow.

"Ice chip," the physician decided, picking up a beaker from the beside table. "Just one. I want you to take it slowly."

Sheppard gave McKay's shoulder another pat, then stepped back, allowing the doctor room to work.

"What about anything else? Headache, chest pains –"

"Head." And it did not go unnoticed that McKay refused to look Carson in the eye, his jaw clenched tight.

The physician nodded, moving away from the bed. "I'll get you something for that. It will pass."

"Doc."

Beckett turned, and Sheppard gestured at the cuffs. "Keys."

The Scot smiled warmly. "My pleasure. I'll be right back."

Elizabeth was still standing beside the bed, resting her hands on the rail. "What do you remember?"

"Pieces." McKay's gaze shifted to a point several inches to the right of his onlookers. "Not much."

That was a lie. Sheppard let it pass.

Beckett returned with the keys and started neatly unlatching the cuffs from the bed. McKay rolled his wrists, flexed his fingers and then dropped his hands tiredly onto his chest.

"You need to rest," Beckett declared, and Sheppard noticed him place the cuffs on a table out of McKay's sight. "Get some sleep."

A flicker of fear passed across the scientist's face. "M'fine," but his eyes were already drooping, then fluttering back open as he fought the battle to stay awake.

"You look like crap," John told him, bluntly, though his voice was warm. "Do what Carson says."

McKay's eyes were now closed, the lines in his face easing, but his lips moved in another mumble. Sheppard translated for Elizabeth: "he says he doesn't need a babysitter."

Her frown faded. "Rest," she told McKay, placing her hand briefly over his for a moment, before stepping away from the bed. The scientist shifted against the mattress, then relaxed, his breath slowing.

So did Sheppard's. He suddenly felt the fuzz in his mouth, the stubble across his cheeks, the growl in his stomach and the ache in his lower back. "Sleep sounds really good right now," he announced, stretching his spine upwards and yawning.

"Very good," Elizabeth agreed. She dropped a hand onto the mattress and looked across at Beckett. "He seems to be –" And she stopped.

"In one piece?" Carson finished. "Aye, he does. Bloody miracle, if you ask me," he added. "When he next comes to I'll want to do some proper tests, check his short-term memory and speech –"

"He's alright," Sheppard interrupted, grinning, and turned to find it reflected by a tired looking Weir.

"Yes he is." She raised a speculative eyebrow. "So, Major, will you be sleeping in your quarters tonight, or playing house guest here?"

He stopped, glancing at Carson, who rolled his eyes and shrugged helplessly.

"I'll have a cot made up for you. God knows, you can't spend anymore time in that chair."

"I think it's starting to mould around me," Sheppard agreed. "A cot sounds good."

Carson shook his head and muttered something under his breath, before moving away from the bed.

Sheppard gave another grin and took a step closer to the bed. He felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Elizabeth, her smile gone, her expression a mix of relief, guilt, and sadness.

"John –"

He shrugged casually. "You were the one who made the choice."

"You talked me into it. If I hadn't –"

He encased her hand in his for a brief moment. "He's back. That's all that matters."

She took a deep breath and nodded, pulling away gently. "Get some sleep."

"You too."

"Yes." Elizabeth turned as if to go, then stopped, hovering hesitantly. "John."

He was almost about to drop onto the cot beside McKay, but stopped himself, half perched on the mattress.

"You were certain."

"I made a good show," he joked, uneasily.

"Maybe." She sounded doubtful.

"Goodnight, Elizabeth."

She nodded, lifting her shoulders and smoothing the creases in her uniform. "Goodnight, Major."

He shifted further back onto the bed so it bore his weight, easing some of the pressure from his back. He watched her leave, and wondered whether she knew the truth.

A/N: He's back! You'd think that would be it, right? But hang on... I think there might be a few loose ends...