John heard the sound of voices arguing and recognized that it was Rodney and Beckett. Mostly Rodney. It was his voice that was raised and John could tell that Rodney was upset, even though he couldn't quite make out the words. He did hear his own name mentioned however and tried to wake up more so he could pay attention. But he felt a bit fuzzy headed and achy and he realized he was back in the infirmary but he didn't remember why. Until Rodney's voice got louder and John could finally understand what they were saying.
"...he got thrown across the room and hit the wall! Hard! What part of that are you not understanding?" Rodney snapped.
Carson's voice was calm but a bit of impatience crept into it. "Rodney...I understand what happened, but I've run a myriad of tests on the major and he's fine. The device didn't do anything to him. He's bruised and he's going to be sore for a while, but he'll be fine."
Rodney snorted. "Right. Then why hasn't he woke up yet? Explain that, Dr. Voodoo."
"Maybe because he's tired," Carson shot back, exasperation making him a bit louder than before.
"Maybe because he's awake!" John called out, and regretted it when the sound of his own voice made his head ache. He watched a hand yank the privacy curtain aside, and he was surprised by the fact he had just realized that there was a privacy curtain enclosing his bed. Then Carson was there beside him, smiling at him, penlight in hand. John winced. He hated that damn light.
Carson narrowed his gaze at him. "How are you feeling, Major?"
John considered his reply. He didn't want to spend any more time than necessary in here. "A little sore but okay," he said at last. Then he caught sight of Rodney who shuffled forward, looking tense. A flare of anger went off inside of John. More than anger. Rage. A spike of pure, white-hot, rage. The intensity of him shook him.
Carson saw him shudder. "Major...are you cold, laddie?"
"No...I'm fine." But John was still shaking and he answered the doc through clenched teeth. He was trying to hold back an angry retort. Anger that was still directed at Rodney. Anger that he felt, eerily, detached from.
"You don't look fine." This from Rodney, who was wringing his hands and hovering.
John closed his eyes, blocking out Rodney's face. He couldn't remember ever feeling this angry before. He was vibrating from the intensity of it. It was pulsing through him, pushing him to lash out with both words and fists. So John curled his fingers into the blankets, willing himself not to move.
Carson was watching the major with concern. "Rodney's right...you don't look fine," he stated, and he reached out to press a hand to Sheppard's face. "You're flushed, perhaps a bit of a fever then."
"No!" John almost snarled the word. Then he clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth to keep silent. Every muscle in his body was locked up as he fought to control himself. The worst of this was the fact that he didn't know why he was so angry. He wasn't happy with Rodney in the sense that McKay had asked him to touch things, not knowing what they might do to him. But at the same time John knew that McKay never would have asked him to touch them if he thought they might harm him. So this rage was over the top. John hadn't felt this angry when Kolya had told him he'd killed Weir. John had been calmly enraged then. This fury was anything but calm.
"Is he having a seizure?" Rodney's voice betrayed his panic as he asked.
Carson was scrambling for the heart monitor in the corner. He grabbed the leads and slapped the pads on John's chest then he flicked it on and was not happy with the readings. The blood pressure cup went on next and Carson clicked his tongue in concern. "Major...I need you to try and calm down."
John heard him and - dammit - he was trying, but he had no control over this. Which scared the hell out of him. Like the freak out he had suffered earlier - because he still wasn't ready to admit that it had been a panic attack - John felt like this was surreal. Like it should have been happening to someone else. He felt as if he suddenly didn't fit in his own skin. He heard the heart monitor's thready beeping and he could feel a vein throbbing in his temple. He tried to gulp in a deep breath, tried to exhale slowly, tried to disperse the anger that washed over him in never-ending waves, but nothing he did worked. His fingers were clenched so hard into the blankets that John was surprised he hadn't poked holes through them yet.
"Major...I'm going to give you a little something to help you relax," Carson said, soothingly.
A prick in his shoulder, a line of cold seeping through his veins and John felt his muscles start to go lax. Just one more thing he had no control over. But he was relieved for once, to the point where he embraced the dark oblivion.
He dreamed about his tenth birthday. His Uncle Dave had flown in from North Carolina to visit and he had a friend in town who flew helicopters and his present to John was to take him up for a three hour ride. It was the most amazing thing ever and John hadn't ever wanted to come back down to the ground. It had been in that moment his future was decided for him. He was going to fly. He was soaring now, chasing the clouds, laughing with delight but he choked on the laughter when he suddenly lost all form. His body disintegrated into mist then liquid light and he wasn't flying now so much as skittering through time and space before becoming scattered into darkness.
The darkness scared him. His older cousin, Blake, had locked him in the closet. He had only been five years old but John still remembered the fear. He remembered how heavy it had felt, how it had settled around him like a blanket but one that was wrapped too tight. It had suffocated him into silence. He hadn't cried or screamed, he had simply endured until his mother had panicked and was ready to call the police. Blake had confessed to locking him in the closet and John had blinked up at his mother when she opened the door. She had gathered him into her arms, hugging him tightly, tears sliding down her face and making his own face wet as she kissed him over and over again.
The fear was different now. Darker and sharper, tangible. He could taste it on his tongue and it gagged him. It made him clumsy and confused and he knew there was no where to hide from it. It was a part of him. It was inside him. He wanted to turn away from it, he wanted to curl inside himself but he didn't exist. He didn't breathe. He wasn't alive but he wasn't dead either. He had become the fear.
He gulped in air, sucking it deep into his lungs, wanting to scream but he exhaled without making a sound. John sat up, body shaking and slicked in a cold sweat. He remembered the dreams. But they weren't exactly memories. They were feelings. Fear and joy and the beginning of sorrow and something else that he couldn't define. Something that felt unfamiliar and it made him feel uncomfortable in a way he couldn't even explain to himself. Sliding off the bed, John stumbled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He didn't do it to wake himself up, he was wide awake in this moment. Awake and tense and hyperaware of every sound in the room, every shadow that danced along the walls. He reached out with one hand, forgetting that his skin was still wet, and touched the mirror, pressing his palm over his face. Covering the face of a stranger.
Three days had passed since his second incident in the infirmary. Whatever Beckett had given John had allowed him to relax and sleep for twelve hours straight. He had awakened to find a perplexed, but pleased, Beckett hovering over him. Everything appeared to be back to normal and John had been released to his room with a two day supply of Tylenol. He had been a bit sore but otherwise had felt fine. The anger was gone, although John had felt a lingering, residual, effect that he had been able to ignore. One shower later he had curled up on his bed with War and Peace and had read himself to sleep. Rodney had shown up with supper and John had been glad of the company. Glad enough to play chess and he had whumped McKay but good, three games straight. That night John had slept without dreaming.
The night after he had done the same. Then he had begged Beckett to put him back on duty but had been told he'd have to wait at least one more day. So John had pestered Rodney, did spot inspections on his men, had sat in on a few briefings with Weir and then he had practiced stick fighting with Teyla. She had taken it easy on him. All in all he'd managed to wear himself out and sleep soundly.
Last night he had dreamed and the dreams had freaked him out to the point where he had nearly gone to the infirmary to beg for drugs. But John had managed to talk himself out of it. He had showered instead then he'd left his room to wander around Atlantis until the post dawn hours. He had then allowed Beckett to poke and prod him some more, all the while assuring Beckett that he hadn't suffered any more panic attacks. After which Beckett agreed to let him back through the gate in the morning. John had almost raced off to tell Weir the good news and she had looked relieved and told him to report to her first thing in the morning for a briefing, then he and the team would be sent out on a mission. She had a couple of places she wanted checked out and she would decide which one then.
Which led John to this moment, with time on his hands. He felt a little tired so he headed for his room and stretched out on the bed, figuring he would take a little nap. But when he closed his eyes he found he couldn't relax. He felt unsettled in a way he couldn't explain at first. Jittery. Giving up on the nap idea, John left his room and found himself heading for the gym. Not so surprisingly he found Teyla there, working out. John leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching her. Admiring her grace and strength and in doing so he found himself relaxing, the jittery feeling fading away.
"Major?" Teyla ended her routine and moved to stand before him.
"Hey, Teyla." John offered a smile. "Nice work out. Every time I watch you like this I keep rethinking why I practice with you."
Teyla inclined her head at the compliment then offered, "You have come a long way, Major. If you remember to practice, you will surprise even yourself at your skill."
John was pleased to hear that but shrugged. "Don't always have a lot of time for practicing."
"Do you wish to practice now?" Teyla asked.
"No...but I would like to take a walk. Would you join me?" John wasn't sure why he was making the offer, he knew only that he didn't to be alone right now and that he enjoyed Teyla's company because she seemed to understand him better than most people. And she was someone he could be with, without talking, and there were no awkward silences. John didn't really feel like talking right now, he just wanted a distraction from the chaos of his own thoughts and feelings right now.
Teyla nodded at him. "Allow me to change then I will join you."
John smiled, glad she had agreed. "I'll walk you to your room then I'll wait for you on the east balcony." There was a section of Atlantis he wanted to explore. So they walked to Teyla's room then parted company. John then made his way to the east balcony. He enjoyed the view from here but he found himself feeling jittery again. Jittery and uneasy and he finally realized he was feeling panicked. But it was different from the first time. It was a different kind of fear. Not terror this time, just the sense that he was alone and abandoned and he found himself almost running off the balcony, frantically searching for someone, anyone, so that he would not feel so alone. John was breathing hard, he could feel his chest constricting and he was about to head for a transporter when he spotted Teyla walking towards him.
The fear began to abate and he could breathe again. John offered a weak wave then turned away from her for a moment, trying to calm himself. He turned back when he felt a hand on his arm. "Hey, ready to go?" John blurted out. He hoped she wouldn't be able to see how shaken he felt.
"I am ready," Teyla allowed. "Are you all right, major? You look...pale."
"I'm good." John tried to be convincing. He plastered a smile on his face then started walking. "Feel like checking out the west pier?"
Teyla smiled back and nodded. "Yes...I have not been there so I would like to see it."
John felt himself relaxing further, feeling more himself again. "Great...let's do it." He watched her fall into step beside him and they headed out. By the time they reached the pier, he felt relaxed and in control of himself again. He was also stunned by the beauty before him. Stretched out was the city in all her glory. From this section they could see the rest of the city and she was breathtaking. And John said as much. In fact, he expounded on it for several minutes, stopping only when he realized Teyla was looking at him funny. "What?" John prompting, feeling suddenly uneasy under her scrutiny.
"It is nothing," Teyla replied, looking uncertain.
"You're staring at me like I just grew a second head," John shot back. "What is it?"
Teyla shrugged. "It is just that...you are not one to share your feelings so openly. It surprised me is all."
John was puzzled by that. Not that she was wrong, but he hadn't really shared his feelings. "I was just admiring the view, Teyla. Is that so surprising?" He felt the need to defend himself.
"You revealed much through your admiration," she replied, a soft smile curving her lips. "You are very connected to Atlantis and to the people in it."
"I guess." John felt himself flush a bit as he replayed what he had said and realized she was right about how it had sounded. And she was also right about the fact that he wasn't one to share his feelings so openly. With anyone. The jittery feeling was returning and John turned away. "We should go back," he said, abruptly. Relief washed over him when Teyla merely nodded and followed him back the way they had come.
"Did I mention I'm sorry?" Rodney blurted out the question while he and Sheppard were on their way to the messhall.
John quirked an eyebrow at him. "Sorry for what?"
Rodney grimaced. "You know...for the thing in the lab. You getting blown across the room. It was pretty cool though. Like something out of an action movie."
"You like action movies?" John couldn't hide his surprise.
"Some action movies. And anything with Jackie Chan in it."
That made John freeze to stare at Rodney in disbelief. "You like Jackie Chan?"
Rodney glared at Sheppard. "Why do you say it like that? Am I not allowed to like Jackie Chan?"
"I don't know. Are geniuses allowed to like Jackie Chan?" John teased. Teasing Rodney was one of his favorite past times.
"Do you like Jackie Chan?" Rodney countered.
John shrugged. "He's very cool. I like Mark Dacascous too. The guy has some great moves. Not as funny as Jackie Chan though."
Rodney crossed his arms and looked smug. "Bet you figure I don't know who Mark Dacascous is, don't you?"
John was about to reply when he heard shouting and that set him in motion. He ran around the corner to find two marines fighting. They were throwing punches and slamming each other into the wall. "KNOCK IT OFF!" John thundered at them. His shouting got them to freeze for a moment, but John saw the bigger one, Sgt. Rodriguez, about to throw another punch. He didn't stop to think, he just stepped in front of the guy, who took the swing anyway. John ducked then popped back up and cold-cocked the guy, knocking him on his ass.
"Are you nuts?" Rodney was just catching up to him and he eyed the scene before him with trepidation. The marine on the floor was twice Sheppard's size.
John ignored Rodney and moved to face the other marine. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.
Sgt. Berkley winced before jerking himself to attention. "Difference of opinion, sir!" he snapped off.
"I want you to escort Sgt. Rodriguez to the infirmary then both of you will report to Sgt. Bates and give detailed reports as to what just happened here. I will be reading those reports later and deciding on your punishment." John's voice was keyed low but there was a sharpness to it he knew Berkley didn't miss.
"Yes, sir," Berkley replied. He then moved to help Rodriguez to his feet and the two marines stumbled down the hallway.
Rodney stared at Sheppard in disbelief. "You just decked a guy who is twice your size!"
John nodded, shaking his fist. Rodriguez had a hard chin. "I know that, Rodney," he stated.
"That guy could have killed you," Rodney pointed out.
"I'm his C.O." John figured that explained it well enough.
Apparently, not to Rodney though. "If you hadn't ducked, he would have knocked your head off. Don't you get that? So what do you do? You just punch him back? Just like that?"
John nodded. "Just like that. You can't be intimidated by size, Rodney."
"Oh really?" Rodney looked put out. "Aren't you the one who told me size does matter?"
"It does, depending on what you're talking about," John allowed, with a chuckle. "Now...you still hungry? I am." John started walking again.
Rodney sighed and fell into step beside him. "I'm always hungry," he reminded Sheppard. "So how's your hand?"
John flexed his fingers. "I'll live. So you ready to go back through the gate tomorrow?"
"Oh sure," Rodney drawled. "I'm always excited at the thought of facing my impending doom once again."
"Good." John clapped Rodney on the back then stepped ahead of him, feeling a contentedness that he hadn't felt in a long time.
The mission was a bust. Rodney was complaining about his time being wasted on a planet that was nothing but gray and damp. There were no people, no building, no readings worth checking out. As they trudged back to the gate Rodney continued bitching.
"What was Elizabeth thinking sending us here?" Rodney complained, as he stopped to shake excess mud off his boots. A pointless exercise given the fact the ground was pretty much layered in mud.
"I believe she was thinking we might find something useful," Teyla interjected, pointedly.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "I told her there was nothing here. If she had just listened to me we wouldn't have wasted half a day on this crappy planet."
John had been trying to keep his mouth shut, but he felt something inside him snap. As Rodney continued to complain, anger slid into rage. A rage that was icy and intense and before he could stop himself he was on Rodney, fingers closing around the other man's throat, choking him.
Rodney squeaked then he couldn't make another sound as his eyes bulged out of his head from the pressure on his throat.
Ford jumped in to break them up.
John let go of McKay long enough to deal with the lieutenant. He backhanded Ford hard, sending him to the ground in a heap. Then John went back to McKay, hauling him up from his knees to try and choke him again. He was blinded by his need to kill him. The intensity of that need was overwhelming. And John would have succeeded in crushing the life out of McKay, had Teyla not intervened by clocking him in the back of the head with her P90.
Pain burst through his head, sending off starbursts to dance in his eyes. Then John watched as everything faded to black.