John heard a soft voice and it took a moment to recognize whom it belonged to. Elizabeth. He couldn't define what she was saying, but it seemed like something he should know. It was with great effort that John shook off the hazy shadows that wanted to pull him back into oblivion. He had rather liked it there, though. It had been peaceful and quiet. But he forced his eyes open and when he turned his head he saw that Elizabeth was reading from a book. He recognized it. His copy of War and Peace. John opened his mouth to say her name but winced at the croaking sound that came out of him. "'lizbet..."
She heard him and nearly dropped the book. Rising from the chair she set it down on the bedside table and moved closer to lean over him. "Welcome back, Major. How do you feel?"
He tried to swallow against the dryness in his throat and shook his head at her. Luckily she got the message and offered him a glass of water. John tried to reach for it only to realize he was, once again, in restraints. The pull of them against his wrists was painful and he yelped a bit.
"Easy, John...you need to lie still." With her free hand Elizabeth gripped the arm closest to her. Then she held the straw for him so he could take a sip.
"What happened?" John asked, after a few swallows of water eased the dryness in his throat.
Elizabeth sighed as she put the glass back on the table then gripped the side rails on the bed, her knuckles going white. "What do you remember?" she countered.
John stared at her hand for a moment, realizing that the bed had side rails. He hadn't noticed that before. Then he shook away the trivial thought and tried to focus on answering Elizabeth's question. He glanced up at her face, seeing the weariness that was etched in the lines around her eyes and beside her mouth. That bothered him that she looked so tired and pale. So worn out. Then it him, the memory of what had happened, and he suddenly understood the look in her eyes. Sadness and sympathy. "God...no..." John shook his head. His fingers clenched as he remembered the feel of the knife in his hand. He remembered the bite of the blade as it sliced into his flesh.
"Beckett found you," Elizabeth stated, trying to fill in the blanks for him. "He went to check on you and when you didn't answer he did a medical override on the door and he found you. You'd bled out heavily and you were in shock. It was a struggle to bring you back. You went in and out on us for a while." She spoke as if reciting a memorized list.
"How long?" John realized it was a kind of stupid question. It didn't really matter in the big picture, but he wanted to get a grasp on how much time he had lost.
Elizabeth glanced at her watch. "About 36 hours."
John closed his eyes for a moment, not wanting to see the sorrow in her eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "What happened...it's not what you think. It's not." He wanted to explain it to her, to make her understand what was going on, but he knew he couldn't do that when he couldn't explain it to himself.
"It's okay, John...it's not your fault." Elizabeth tried for a smile and failed, so she settled for patting his shoulder. "You're sick but we're going to help you get better."
"I'm not sick!" John hissed, anger flashing in his, now, wide-open eyes. He hated the thought of her believing that. He knew she was thinking he was suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome, but he knew that wasn't the case. This was something different, he just had to make her understand that. "I'm not sick, Elizabeth," he repeated, when she did nothing but stare at him.
Elizabeth patted his shoulder one last time then withdrew her hand. "I'll tell Carson you're awake, he'll tell you what to expect." With that she turned and walked away.
John watched her go, resisting the urge to call her back. He knew she wasn't willing to hear what he had to say. She wasn't ready to believe him and that hurt more than it should have. He let his head fall back onto the pillow, trying to remember what had pushed him to slice his wrists. He remembered feeling despondent and overwhelmed, emotions that he was familiar with but not to that degree. He had suffered more than his fair share of trauma in his life, but John had always been capable of dealing with it, even if it sometimes meant locking the shit away, deep inside him, to be dealt with later. He knew that Heightmeyer would tell him that it was those emotions and memories that he had locked away that were leaking out now and overwhelming him, but he knew that what he was feeling wasn't right.
"Major?"
John tensed then turned his head to see Beckett staring at him. He looked worried. "Hey, Doc," he said softly, than he tugged on the restraints. "So...when do I get out of these and out of here?" He was a little disturbed by the fact that both his arms and his voice were shaking.
Carson sighed then grabbed the chair, pulling it over to the bed before sitting down. "I'm going to be very straightforward with you, Major," he began.
"Straightforward is good," John allowed, trying to keep his tone light. But Beckett wasn't smiling and John realized that he wasn't going to like what the doctor had to say.
"You're on a suicide watch, major. Until further notice." Carson looked unhappy at having to deliver this news.
John felt himself tense up and he forced himself to relax. The goal was to get out of here, so he forced down a sudden spike of panic and asked, "What does that mean, exactly?"
Carson rubbed a hand over his face, as if to smooth away his obvious exhaustion. "It means that we've set up a room on the third level that's more like a little suite. It's been stripped of everything but the necessities and you'll be under watch twenty-four seven once we move you there."
"Which will be when?" John asked, his tone a bit hoarse. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He couldn't believe they were going to this extreme. That they had decided to do all of this without even giving him a chance to explain. Without being willing to listen.
"A few days from now." Carson was staring at the floor, not at Sheppard. "You'll be here until then, I want to monitor your recovery. It was a close call for a bit."
John shifted in the bed, wishing he could move his arms, wanting to cover his face, to hide from this in some small way. He felt shaken to his very core by the reality of what Beckett was telling him. He waited for the doctor to blurt out something like Just kidding, but Beckett said nothing more, he just kept staring at the floor and he looked dejected. Finally, John felt compelled to ask, "Do you really think I'm suicidal?"
Carson's head snapped up and his eyes glittered with something that was a cross between sadness and anger. "I don't want to believe it," he shot back, but it's not like you've given me a choice, Major. Facts are facts." His eyes flickered over Sheppard's bandaged wrists, then away. "Look...it's not your fault, laddie. I blame myself, truth be told. I'm your doctor...I should have seen signs of this coming."
"I'm not suicidal!" John snapped, reaching the end of his rope. "So there was nothing to see! I didn't do this." As he spoke, he tugged on the restraints. He needed to make Beckett understand. He needed to make someone understand what the hell was going on so that they could explain it to him. And that was a bit of irony that made John choke with laughter, only to try and stifle it when he realized it no doubt just confirmed Beckett's belief that he had gone off the deep end.
"Denial is a typical reaction, major." Carson was on his feet, his hands pressed to Sheppard's shoulders to keep him still. "Dr. Heightmeyer will be in later to talk to you. You'll be having daily sessions with her, of course." He spoke as if it should be expected.
John figured maybe it was. Ever since he had started acting...off...Beckett and everyone else seemed determined to send him to the shrink. Maybe he was going crazy, John thought. But he'd always believed that if you wondered it about yourself that was supposed to mean you were sane after all. But then again, crazy and insane weren't exactly the same thing and another burst of laughter escaped him. His thoughts were seriously chaotic and he felt tired and confused and he was beginning to hope...and believe...that maybe this was nothing more than a fevered dream. He was just about able to convince himself that was the case when he felt a spike of coolness in his veins and turned his head to see that Beckett had just injected his IV with something. John recognized what it was even as he felt himself sliding towards darkness. He welcomed it. When next he woke maybe his world would make sense again.
The next time John woke up he was told another twelve hours had passed. He felt disoriented from the drugs Beckett was pumping into him but he was able to get up, with help, and make it to the bathroom. His legs felt rubbery and he stumbled a few times, but it felt good to be up. Once he took care of his bladder and splashed cold water on his face, John was ushered back to his bed. He wasn't surprised to see Heightmeyer waiting for him. She smiled at him as Beckett fussed with John's IV and the blankets. John looked away as the restraints were buckled into place again. "Wait...can't you leave them off for a while?" John begged. And it was begging.
Carson hesitated then shook his head. "I think not."
"Please?" John would keep begging if he had too. He was tired of feeling like he had no control over himself.
"Major.." Carson began.
Kate intervened. "Dr. Beckett...perhaps you could leave one hand free for now? I'll be with him. Besides which, I'm sure the major is hungry and he'll need a hand free to eat."
Carson looked like he was going to argue the point but he suddenly nodded. "All right then, just the one side for now," he agreed, and he left Sheppard's right arm free, then looked him in the eye. "I'm going to send for a tray and I expect you to eat. You need to get your strength back."
"Fine," John replied. He wouldn't argue that point. He hated feeling so weak and shaky. He watched Beckett walk off then turned to face Kate. He knew he couldn't avoid talking to her and if she was going to be his ticket out of the nuthouse - so to speak - then so be it. He would cooperate with her as best he could. "So...where do we start?" John asked.
"How about with what you remember?" Kate replied. She had grabbed a stool and now brought it over to the bed and perched herself on it. "Do you remember cutting yourself?"
John nodded. "I remember."
Kate looked pleased. "Tell me what you were feeling then, Major. What pushed you to do that."
"I felt like I had no choice," John replied, and he knew she wouldn't understand the true meaning of his words. It wasn't just the despair he had been feeling that had pushed him into the act. It was the lack of control he'd had over himself, as if someone else had been pushing his buttons. Someone else had been in control of his body.
"You felt...despair?" Kate guessed.
John nodded and lifted his free hand to scrub over his head. "It was overwhelming. I felt like I couldn't bear it another minute."
Kate shifted on the stool, her expression closed off for the moment. "Have you ever felt like that before, Major?"
"Sure." John saw no reason not to be honest with her about. He was getting to the point where he almost hoped Heightmeyer could help him figure out what was wrong with him.
"Have you ever tried to hurt yourself before?" The question was asked softly.
John tensed, realizing what she was asking, realizing the connotations of it. The implication she was making. He glared at her. "No, Doc!" John hissed. "I haven't tried offing myself before! Happy?"
Kate slid off the stool and moved to touch his arm. The one that was still bound. "I'm just trying to help you deal with what's happening to you, Major. I know this isn't easy for you, it's been difficult for everyone. We all just want you to be well again."
"You make it sound like I'm sick!" John was openly angry now.
"Not sick exactly," Kate countered, then she fumbled for a better explanation as if hoping not to offend him.
John shook his head at her and sighed. "Never mind...I know what you mean." And he did. He dropped his head back to the pillow and waited for her to say something else.
Kate shifted back to the stool. "Do you remember anything after Dr. Beckett found you?" she asked.
"Not really." John closed his eyes and tried to remember. Nothing came to him. Not readily. "Why? Did I do something?"
"You were in and out of it a few times," Kate replied. "You were violent on one occasion. That's why you ended up in restraints."
Opening his mouth to make a denial, John was suddenly hit not so much with images as emotions. He remembered feeling angry. No, more than angry. Furious. Furious and scared and the feelings had left him feeling muddled and confused. They left him feeling agitated now and he didn't realize he had fisted his fingers into the blankets and was almost ripping them until a hand touched his arm. His eyes flew open.
Kate looked concerned. "I think we've done enough for today," she said gently. "Why don't you rest and eat. I know you have some friends who are anxious to visit you."
"Fine." John wasn't about to argue with her. He wanted to be left alone. He listened, waiting to hear her footsteps moving away, only to jerk and open his eyes when he felt something fold over his wrist. John felt a flash of anger as he watched Heightmeyer buckle him back into the restraint. "Guess you don't trust me," he drawled, but there was a sharpness to his tone that he knew she didn't miss.
"It's just a precaution, major," She replied, completely unruffled by his anger.
John understood that, but it didn't appease him in the least. "Can I ask you something?" he queried, as she turned to walk away from him.
Slowly turning back to face him, Kate nodded. "You can ask me anything."
"Will you give me an honest answer?" John needed her to be truthful with him.
"I can do that," she allowed.
He nodded then took a moment to make sure he really wanted to know that answer to his question. But John knew he had to ask. He had to know. "Do you believe I tried to kill myself?"
Kate looked surprised by the question and countered with one of her own. "The evidence is pretty damning, don't you think?" As she spoke she touched one of his bandaged wrists.
"That's not an answer, Doc," John replied. He was going to call her on this one.
"To be honest, I'm surprised by what happened," Kate said softly.
John felt surprisingly relieved by that, until she continued.
Squeezing his shoulder, Kate added, "But given everything that's happened to you before coming to Atlantis and since? It's not so surprising after all. In fact, in retrospect, I realize you've shown all the classic signs for PTSS. It's my fault for not catching it sooner and trying to work you through it before you hit the meltdown stage. I should have pushed for you to get into therapy the moment you shot Sumner."
"What?" John was stunned by what he was hearing. He shook his head at her. "You're wrong about this...about me!" He was getting agitated, tugging at his restraints, ignoring the pain his actions caused. John felt the burn of anger deep inside him, felt it warring with fear and something else. There was a ripple of calm serenity that jolted him and he felt his mind and his body at odds with each other. He could feel the tension knotting his muscles, but his head was telling him to relax, only he couldn't seem to follow instructions and it made John's head hurt. He felt himself start to shake and he heard Heightmeyer calling his name as if from a distance. He heard footsteps and familiar voices but everything seemed to echo around him like some vacuum. John closed his eyes and tried to shut it all out.
Then he felt it, a coolness easing through his veins and he was spiraling into darkness.
He woke up the next day to find a Teyla sitting in the chair next to his bed. She greeted him with a smile then ran off to call Beckett. After a quick exam John was allowed out of the restraints and Beckett escorted him to the bathroom. John asked if he could shower and he was given a clean set of scrubs then his wrists were wrapped in something that looked like cellophane to protect the bandages. He showered quickly and got dressed and was a little surprised to find Teyla still waiting for him when he was escorted back to bed.
"I'll get some toast and juice for you," Carson said as he pulled the blankets over Sheppard.
"That's it?" John asked, more than a little surprised that the restraints were being buckled back on and he wasn't being asked a million questions.
Carson made a face then sighed. He understood that Sheppard wasn't referring to breakfast. "I have a guard outside the door and someone will be with you at all times, Major," he explained. "Teyla said she'll stay for a bit so I'm trusting you to behave."
John winced at that, feeling like he was five years old again. "Gee, I'll try to be good," he drawled, and he was rather glad when Beckett looked a bit guilty. Only John realized it wasn't the doc's fault that he was in this condition. Beckett was a good guy and a good doctor. John sighed then apologized. "Sorry...I'm just feeling touchy."
"I know. I'll get your breakfast." Carson smiled then nodded to Teyla before disappearing.
"How are you feeling, Major?" Teyla asked, the moment they were alone.
It would have been easy enough to give her a snappy reply, but John had too much respect for Teyla to do that. Besides which, her opinion of him mattered because she saw people in a way few others did. She saw past whatever facade people felt the need to present to the rest of the world, including himself, and she accepted people for who they really were without judgment. It was something that John had always admired about. So instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. "Do you think I'm losing it?"
Teyla looked puzzled for a moment, then she moved closer to the bed and touched his arm. "Losing it?" she echoed.
"Going crazy, falling apart," John clarified. "Heightmeyer is putting it in nicer terms calling it a melt down or, technically, PTSS. But it means the same thing. I mean...I know that I've done some really off things lately, but it's not me, Teyla. I swear it's like...it's just not me doing it."
"I see." She spoke softly and the smile she directed at him reflected the sadness in her eyes. "I think that you carry a great burden, Major. One that you had not expected to carry. You feel things deeply but you try to hide that...passion. I think, perhaps, that has taken it's toll on you."
John closed his eyes, feeling suddenly bereft. "So you think I'm losing it," he whispered.
Teyla sighed. "I think you must allow yourself the time to heal."
There wasn't much John could say to that but he looked at her and was about to try and come up with some witty comment when Beckett returned with a tray of toast and juice. He shooed Teyla out and set the food on the tray table and wheeled it over the bed. "Eat up, major," Carson ordered. "We'll talk when you're through."
John said nothing. He picked up a slice of toast and took a bite, not tasting it. Automatically he chewed and swallowed. He managed half a slice before his gag reflex kicked in. A nurse happened to be checking on him and she grabbed a basin and got it under him just in time. John accepted the glass of water she gave him and rinsed his mouth.
Carson appeared and told him they would try again later and that he should rest for now. John didn't argue. He closed his eyes and drifted off into an unsettled slumber.
Another day passed and John suffered through and uncomfortable visit with Ford. The kid kept shifting from side to side and twisting his cap in his hands. John knew he wasn't dealing well with the idea of his C.O. slipping into madness, so to speak. Which was understandable. John wasn't dealing with it so well himself.
Elizabeth visited again too, as did Heightmeyer. Neither visit did much for John's peace of mind. He found himself becoming angry to the point where it felt he might explode, then he suffered a feeling of such great sorrow that he was hard put not to cry. He never cried. That particular moment happened with Heightmeyer present and ended with John becoming angry again so that the doc was nearly in tears when he left and Beckett was threatening to sedate him. Once he had calmed down, Beckett had informed John that he would be moving to his new quarters in the morning.
That was another irritation to John. The thought of being confined and watched like a rat in a cage. He was dreading it yet he couldn't figure any way out of it. At least here the guard was outside the door. Once he was moved he'd have permanent company. So John tried not to think about it. Instead he focused on keeping another light meal down, which he was having so-so luck with, then he managed to drift off to sleep.
The next time he opened his eyes it was because someone was hissing his name. Blinking awake, John realized it was McKay. He also realized he had missed the man, but he hadn't really been surprised when everyone made the excuse that McKay was busy in his lab. He had nearly choked Rodney to death. John wouldn't expect him to want to hang out with him. "What are you doing here?" That was the first thing John found himself saying.
"I'm breaking you out," Rodney replied, and he looked both grim and smug. "Can you walk on your own? Please tell me yes."
"I can walk," John replied, but he was more than a little bit confused. He watched as Rodney whipped back the blankets and reached for him. "What do you mean you're breaking me out?"
Rodney huffed an impatient sigh. "Do you want to get locked up in the little observation room?" he countered, even as he tried tugging Sheppard off the bed.
John slid off and stood on shaky legs. Lack of food and too much bedrest did that to a body. "Rodney...we can't just walk out of here." Not so surprisingly, John was willing to try and break out and he wasn't really questioning how McKay was going to do it. But he did plan on asking why. If they succeeded.
"Sure we can." Rodney was looking smug again as he wrapped an arm around Sheppard's waist. "Beckett is in his quarters sleeping. Finally. The nurse is on bathroom break and I drugged the guards. But we're working with a short window here so lets move, okay?"
"Okay." John didn't argue. He simply let Rodney guide him to the door. "Where are we going?" he asked, as they stepped into the transporter.
Rodney grinned. "Some place where we won't be found till we want to be," Rodney replied. Then he reached out and touched the panel.
John watched him, not recognizing the area and not caring. He was just happy to be free.