John felt like someone had stuffed cotton in his head. And, apparently, they had stuffed some in his mouth as well. He heard the sound of muffled voices and peeled his eyes open, recognizing the infirmary. Then it came back to John in a flood of memory, the little freak out he had suffered.
"Major?"
Recognizing Teyla's voice, John turned his head on the pillow to see her rising from a nearby chair and moving to his side. "Hey," he whispered. His mouth was too dry to form proper sound.
Teyla reached for the glass of water on the bed table and held the straw for him. "Better?" she asked, after he had taken a few sips.
"Much," John replied, and he could swallow now without wincing.
"Dr. Beckett will want to know that you are awake," Teyla stated. "I will be back in a moment." With that she offered a smile before turning and gliding away.
John watched her go then let his eyes drift closed. He felt oddly calm but still tired, and he realized he wasn't achy anymore. But he was lethargic. He knew that was thanks to the sedative Beckett had pumped into him. Absently, John scratched at his shoulder where the needle had gone in, only just noticing his IV was gone. That made him happy.
Footsteps sounded and a moment later, Carson was standing at his bedside. "How are you feeling, Major?"
"Better," John replied, offering a smile to let Beckett know he was sincere.
"No headache?" Carson prompted, as he took Sheppard's vitals.
John shook his head. "It's gone. I feel good, really."
Carson nodded before moving to scribble on the major's chart. "Do you remember what happened?"
"Yeah." John winced and rubbed a hand over his head, making his hair stand up more than usual. "Sorry about the freak out. I don't know what happened. I was sleeping and then, all of the sudden, I felt like my heart was going to pound its way through my chest. It felt like I couldn't breathe...like I was going to suffocate. And I tell you what...I have never felt so terrified in all my life. And I've been in some pretty damn terrifying situations."
"I believe that," Carson responded. "For the record, your blood work came back clean. I had been thinking maybe the Cerulin's slipped you something in the juice. But there's nothing there."
John was almost disappointed. "So I didn't suffer a drug induced freak out?"
Carson shook his head. "Apparently not."
"Then what the hell happened to me?" John was becoming frustrated. He could still remember, so clearly, how terrified he had felt. The worst part of it being that he had had no control over his body.
"I'm thinking you suffered a panic attack," Carson said, his eyes locked on the major's face.
John frowned at the Scotsman then shook his head. "No...no way." He couldn't accept that.
Carson sighed then pulled up the chair Teyla had vacated. "It's not really so surprising, Major. Panic attacks are stress related and let's face it, you've had a lot of stress in your life since coming to Atlantis. Having read your files, you've had a lot of stress for a good long time. It's more surprising you haven't suffered them before now, really."
"Still not buying it, Doc," John countered. He let his head fall back on the pillows for a moment as he considered what Beckett was saying. But it didn't add up. "I've suffered through all kinds of traumatic shit," John said, talking more to himself than to Beckett. "And I've had the mother of all nightmares here and back home. But this was different."
"I'm telling you, Major...you showed the classic signs of a panic attack," Carson insisted.
John considered Beckett's words but he still had his doubts. "You know what the weirdest thing about it was?" When Beckett shook his head at him, John continued. "I felt utterly terrified, but it was like it wasn't my fear."
Carson made a face, letting his confusion show. "I'm not sure what you mean by that. If you felt it it had to be your fear."
"You would think," John allowed, then he shrugged. "I dunno...maybe I'm just remembering it wrong."
"I've talked to Dr. Heightmeyer about the incident," Carson said, as he stood up and pushed the chair back into place. "I'd like you to talk to her. I think she can help you get a handle on this and she can show you ways to ease future attacks."
John's eyes went wide at that. "What do you mean...future attacks?"
Carson winced, realizing what he had said. "Once you have a panic attack, they tend to hit with frequency. At least at first. But there are little tricks you can use to get through them and, eventually, they will pass. Once you learn how to deal with the stress that causes them. Which entails identifying what it is that triggers them in the first place. But Dr. Heightymeyer can help you with all of that."
"Not happening." John was adamant. He held up a hand before Beckett could protest. "Look...I had one incident and it's over and done with. I think you're jumping the gun thinking I'm suffering from panic attacks. I think it was just, you know...a one time thing. It was just one of those freaky things that only happens in the Pegasus galaxy." John knew, from experience, that those types of things happened pretty much on a daily basis here. It wasn't at all what he expected to be dealing with when he had agreed to come along on this expedition. Not that he regretted it. If he had it to do over again, he'd still come. Atlantis felt more like home than any other place he'd ever been.
"Major..." Carson's tone was stern. "I think it would be best if you at least talked to Dr. Heightmeyer. What would it hurt?"
John shook his head. He could be stubborn as a mule when it came to getting his own way. "Look...if it happens again I'll consider talking to the shrink, until then...drop it." That said, John reached for the covers only to find his wrist gripped by strong fingers.
Carson glared at the major. "Just where do you think you're going?" he demanded.
"Out of here," John replied, trying to shake off Beckett's hand. But the man had a grip like a vice. "I'm fine!" John insisted, feeling frustration well up in him. But it ebbed away, like a wave on the beach, before taking hold of him. "Really, I'm fine." John said calmly.
"Be that as it may," Carson countered, as he released the major's wrist. "You're staying put for a few more hours. If you behave yourself I might let you out after lunch. For now I'd like to keep you under observation. Consider it a precautionary measure."
John sighed then nodded. He knew that Beckett was just doing his job and looking out for his best interests. "Fine...I'll stay until after lunch."
Carson looked relieved. "Good lad. I'll send someone for a breakfast tray. I want you to eat up, Major. And drink lots of juice. It'll do you good."
"Yes mother," John drawled, but he was smiling as he said it. He was relieved when Carson shook a finger at him then walked away. Alone now, John settled back against the pillows and closed his eyes. He still felt tired but, at the same time, he felt oddly at peace.
True to his word, Beckett released John after lunch, but it came with a hitch. Which John should have expected. He was grounded for two days, the excuse being he was under medical observation. Normally that would have pissed him off but he discovered he was okay with it. Beckett's reasoning that he could suffer another attack out in the field was logical and John accepted it with good grace. He was almost amused by Beckett's stunned reaction to that.
After leaving the infirmary, John headed for his room. He took a long shower and dressed in jeans and a pullover. He was just lacing on his boots when a knock sounded on the door. "Come in!" John called out.
The doors slid open and Elizabeth entered the room. She was smiling. "How are you feeling, Major?" she asked in greeting.
"I'm good." John stood up and smiled at her. He meant what he said. He was feeling good and it wasn't just in a physical sense. He felt happy and content. Which was odd and probably should have bothered him while sending off all kinds of warning signals. But it didn't.
"You look better than the last time I saw you," Elizabeth allowed. "Beckett informed you that you're grounded, correct?"
John nodded. "Correct. I figure I can use the time to catch up on things around here. Like reports and such."
Elizabeth looked surprised but shook it off. "You could do that," she allowed. "Although I believe you're pretty well caught up with your reports, aren't you?"
"Could be." John had always made it a point to keep up to date on any kind of paper work. It was hell to play catch up once you got behind. "That being the case...any suggestions on how not to be bored for the next two days?"
"You could help Rodney out in the lab," Elizabeth replied. "He was complaining to me at the meeting this morning that there are some devices he can't get to activate."
John nodded and felt surprisingly intrigued. "I could do that," he allowed. In fact he found himself looking forward to it. Which was another warning bell going off, but John ignored it. Instead he headed out of his room, keeping Weir company until they needed to part ways, then John headed for Rodney's lab. Only to discover that Rodney was in a secondary lab on the seventh level.
It was a nice walk to the lab and John found himself whistling as he made his way through the winding corridors to the lab. Once he reached the open doors he could hear mild cursing. Grinning to himself, John snuck in. Rodney was buried beneath some console, muttering to himself. Moving closer John said loudly, "Hi Rodney!"
"What the..." There was panic in Rodney's voice and he sat up, bumping his head on the underside of the console. What followed was a string of colorful curses.
"Why Rodney, I didn't know you spent time with sailors," John teased, as the scientist came out from under the console to glare at him. "Must have been Russian sailors. Sounded like a few Russian curses mixed in there."
Rodney scrambled to his feet, still rubbing the sore spot on his head. "What the hell are you trying to do, Major? Give me a heart attack?"
John offered an innocent smile. "Actually...I'm hear to light things up. Weir said you needed help."
"I do," Rodney groused, then he muttered for a moment before pointing to a table in the corner. "Start touching things and see if you can get them to activate."
"Yes, master," John drawled, baiting Rodney yet again. He smirked in the face of the glare that was leveled at him then strolled over towards the table. In doing so he had to pass by Rodney. John paused and sniffed the air. "What is that smell?" His nose crinkled in distaste.
Rodney flushed red. "Not my fault," he muttered.
John leaned in and sniffed again only to back off and plug his nose with his fingers. "That is rancid. Seriously...what is that?"
"Cologne!" Rodney spat out.
"Cologne?" John echoed, in disbelief. "Are you sure it isn't starter fluid?"
Rodney huffed a sigh. "It's not my fault. Zelenka has been...experimenting. He spritzed me with the damn stuff before I could stop him."
John released his nose so he could snort through it. "You mean to tell me Zelenka is trying to make cologne?"
" 'Trying' being the operative word," Rodney pointed out as he sniffed himself. The face he made showed his disgust at his own odor.
"He needs to keep working on it," John allowed. He took a sideways step towards the table. "I'll be over here touching things. You stay over there," He pointed to the area off to his left. "Down wind."
Rodney didn't even bother to glare at him this time. "Ha ha." But he took a step in that direction. He fiddled with some tools then asked, "Are you okay?"
John paused from touching one of the devices on the table and turned to face Rodney. He could see genuine concern in the other man's eyes. "Yeah...I'm fine. No big deal."
"Freaking out isn't a big deal?" Rodney looked surprised.
"Beckett thinks it was a panic attack," John replied, then he shrugged it off. "I think it was just a really bad dream."
Rodney was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, then he blurted out, "I used to suffer panic attacks."
Now it was John's turn to be surprised. "You did?"
"Yeah...they suck. College years." Rodney made a face. "You know...fish out of water syndrome. Stressed me out."
"I'm not stressed." There was no anger in John's words, just finality. He knew he was stressed, as was everyone, but he still didn't accept the fact that what he had suffered was a panic attack. "It wasn't my fear," he added, without meaning to.
Rodney paused, drawing his focus from the panel he had been working on to look at Sheppard. "Then whose?" he questioned.
John sighed, wishing he had the answer to that. "I don't know. Don't mind me." He stared at the table full of devices. "Anything in particular you want me to touch?"
"The rectangle thing on the end. Kinda looks like a light saber handle," Rodney pointed out.
"Got it." John picked it up and it lit up the moment it touched his palm. Then it started vibrating a bit and it felt warm. John tensed and was about to put it down, getting the feeling something bad was going to happen. But it was too late. The next thing he knew he was flying across the room. Then there was a flash of white, a feeling of pain exploding in his head. Then darkness.