John felt the broken shards of glass cutting into his flesh. He knew it hurt but the pain didn't register. He saw the blood slicking his skin but didn't care as he grabbed the vial of Red Sun. Pulling his hand out, John felt a shard of broken glass cut into his wrist. It burned in a way that helped him to focus. He needed a syringe. Whirling, John gazed about the room and he almost felt like weeping in relief when he spotted a container full of packaged syringes. With his other hand he grabbed one, using his teeth to rip it open. He realized he was shaking as he plunged the needle into the vial. He didn't know what dosage Beckett had been giving him and he didn't care. John filled the needle all the way, yanked it out of the vial and tapped it for air bubbles. Once it was clear of them he turned his left arm over to expose the inside veins. It was hard to hold the syringe with his blood slicked fingers but John managed. He didn't bother tapping a vein he just plunged the needle into the blue line and pressed the plunger. Before he got half of the contents in his fingers lost their grip between the way he was shaking and the slipperiness of his blood. But it didn't matter. Already John could feel a warm euphoria washing over him.
Slowly, the itch faded away and John's knees buckled, sending him down to the floor. He scooted back until he was up against the nearest wall and he laughed as the voices in his head fell silent. The fire in his veins cooled and John felt giddy. No more pain. It didn't even taunt him now. He wanted this moment to last forever. It felt like flying. He felt quicksilver and light, and the darkness that had wrapped itself around him shaded to a brilliant gold, so bright that he had to close his eyes and then he was free falling but he wasn't afraid because he knew he would never hit the ground.
"Major...bloody hell!"
He heard the voice but he didn't want to stop flying, so he didn't open his eyes.
"I need help, I'm in the meds room. STAT!"
John felt hands gripping his arm, then a pressure clamping over his wrist and suddenly the pain was back and that made him angry. It wasn't supposed to hurt anymore. He whimpered and tried to break free of the pain but it held fast. Snarling now, John lashed out with his fist and he heard a howl of pain. The pressure eased up and the pain receded and he curled into himself. He wanted to keep flying.
"Sonofabitch! I need help now!"
The pressure was back and John let his eyes slide open. He recognized the face looming over him and he laughed softly and shook his head. Not the devil, the devil didn't have blue eyes and a funny voice. But he stopped laughing when the pressure turned to pain. "No...no..." John pulled against it and was almost free when suddenly more faces loomed over him and he tried to scuttle back but the pressure held him and then more bands of pain were pushing him down, holding him fast and he couldn't fly anymore and he screamed at them until his voice was raw and scalding to his own ears.
There were voices but he couldn't make out the words and it didn't matter. The pain was back, grinding into him. Not burning this time, and he was still warm, not hot, and his blood ran cool in his veins but he felt a cool slickness on his skin then everything faded to gray, never quite shading to black. Then he felt himself rising and he laughed out loud. He was flying again. Flying…
"How is he?" Elizabeth asked the question but she wasn't the only one waiting for an answer. Rodney was hovering beside her.
Carson sighed and raised his hand to rub over his face, but stilled it when he realized it was still stained red with Sheppard's blood. "He's not good right now." Carson wasn't about to lie.
Elizabeth's expression tightened. "What happened?"
"Hell if I know." Carson moved to slump down on a nearby stool. "I found him in the meds room. He punched through the glass and injected himself with Red Sun, half a syringe full. That's about three dosages. He cut himself on the glass and sliced his wrist wide open. He's lost a lot of blood."
"He's not going to die, is he?" Rodney looked ready to pass out as he asked the question.
Carson sighed. "No...I don't think he'll die. We got to him in time and I've stitched him up. He's tripping though and it's going to be bad once he comes down. All the progress he made is for nothing now. Getting through the withdrawal this time is going to be worse than before."
Elizabeth looked shaken. "Why would he do this? I thought he was doing so well? You said the drug was nearly out of his system."
"Aye...it was. But I guess he wasn't doing as well as we thought." Carson rubbed at his eyes, not caring about his blood stained hands. They felt gritty and raw. It had been a long night.
"Is he awake?" Rodney looked hopeful.
Carson nodded. "He's awake but not really aware of his surroundings…He's trapped in his own little world at the moment."
Elizabeth rubbed at her own eyes. "How long before he comes down?"
"Hours." Carson stood up again and moved towards the door. "Both of you get some sleep. I'll let you know if anything changes."
"I want to sit with him." Rodney followed Beckett out the door. "I want to be there when he comes out of it."
Carson locked eyes with Rodney. "You've helped him a lot, Rodney. He's going to need a lot of help to get through this. It won't be easy on anyone."
Rodney nodded. "I know. But he's strong enough to do this and I'm strong enough to help him."
"This wasn't your fault." Carson could see the guilt shimmering in Rodney's eyes.
"I should have seen this coming!" Rodney's tone was sharp. "I've spent the most time with him. I thought I knew him."
Elizabeth had followed and she touched Rodney's shoulder, waiting for him to turn and face her. "I don't think anyone knows the major, Rodney. He's a very private person. He plays everything close to the vest. And whatever made him do this...I can't even imagine what kind of demons he's been fighting. The hell he's been through." She shuddered at her own words.
Rodney closed his eyes. "The hell he's still going through. That bastard, Kolya!" Anger vibrated through Rodney's voice and his fists clenched at his sides.
"What's done his done," Carson interjected. "We have to focus on the here and now. Kolya is dead. But Major Sheppard is alive and we'll all do what we can to get him through this."
"If he let's us," Rodney whispered.
Elizabeth sighed. "We won't give him a choice." She wiped her fingers over her cheeks then turned away.
But Carson saw the tears.
Rodney didn't see them. He was already gone.
John felt the pain creeping into his veins. Not burning just shimmering, nothing more than glowing embers but he knew it wouldn't take much for it to spark into agony. He shifted slightly and there was a flare of sharp pain that caught him unaware. He hissed softly and reached out to touch the pain but he couldn't reach it and his eyes flew open and he was stunned to see that his wrists were in padded restraints. And his right wrist and hand was wrapped thickly in gauze bandages and it was his wrist that hurt as he tugged at his bindings.
"Easy, Major...stop fussing now." Carson was by his side and gripping his forearms. "Don't be hurting yourself."
"Why am I here?" John's voice was gritty to his own ears and he swallowed against the dryness in his throat.
Carson looked troubled. "You don't remember what happened?"
John frowned, trying to remember and then the memory hit him like a slap in the face and he closed his eyes and tried to curl into himself. He started rocking to soothe himself. "Oh god...god...I'm sorry."
"It's going to be okay, Major." Carson reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "We're going to help you get through this."
"I made a mess," John whispered. He remembered all the shards of glass. Red-stained glass.
Carson grabbed a stool and pulled it over to the bed. He sat down and tried to make eye contact with the major. "The mess doesn't matter. Now...how are you feeling?"
John tried to focus. He closed his eyes and let himself feel the pain. It was creeping slowly inside him, whispering softly to him. He opened his eyes and asked, "How long have I been here?"
"Two days. You've been in and out of awareness." Carson grinned. "Mostly out though."
"I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say. He wanted to explain what happened, but he couldn't explain it to himself. No one could understand what it meant to fly. Certainly not Beckett. He was afraid to fly.
Carson nodded. "What matters now is working through this. It's a definite setback and it's not going to be easy, laddie."
John knew that. Nothing was ever easy. "I know," he whispered, then he tugged on the restraints. "Can you take these off?" He made it a question but it was more a request. They were too much of a reminder of the devil and the memories were sifting through his head, taunting him.
"They stay for now," Carson stated. "And before you argue the point, let me tell you how it's going to be for now. First thing you're going to do is talk to Heightmeyer."
"No!" John was startled by the intensity of his own voice. "No shrinks!"
Carson glared at him. "You don't get a say in this, Major. You talk to Heightmeyer or you stay grounded until you do. I blame myself for not forcing this issue before."
John almost laughed as he held Beckett's gaze. "I wouldn't have talked to her before and I won't talk to her now. She can't fix what's wrong!"
"You don't know that!" Carson was almost shouting at him. Then he stopped, as if startled by his actions. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm tired."
"My fault." John realized that Beckett was trying to help him but the man didn't understand what he was doing. What he was asking. He couldn't let anyone inside his head.
Carson stood up and pushed back the stool. "Are you hungry? You need more than the liquid diet I've got you on." He pointed to one of IV lines taped to the back of Sheppard's left hand.
John shook his head. "I'll try to eat later." He knew that if he put anything in his mouth right now he would puke it back up. The pain had slithered into his gut and was coiling around itself like a snake.
"All right. I'm going to go get Heightmeyer." Carson raised a hand to still any protests. "It's non negotiable, Major." With that he turned and walked out of the room.
When Beckett was gone, John tugged at his restraints again but they held fast. He felt a remnant of fear from when Kolya had shackled him to the cot in that cold room. But he shook off the memory, reminding himself that Kolya was dead and he was home. He was safe. John let himself sink back into the pillows but his body was taut with tension. The pain was starting to burn and it scared him because it felt so familiar. Too familiar. Almost like an old friend and he wondered if that was why he had taken the drug. Because he missed the pain. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what it had felt like before. Before Kolya had grabbed him. Before his entire world had been reduced to that small room and the cold burn of pain.
"Major?"
He opened his eyes and blinked hard, bringing Heightmeyer's pretty face into focus. It shook him a bit to realize he must have drifted off. Not sleeping so much as slipping out of conscious reality. What shook John the most was the fact that the pain was now rippling through his veins and he hadn't even noticed.
Heightmeyer moved closer to the bed. "How are you feeling, Major? Or may I call you John?"
"I don't care what you call me." His tone was sharp and he knew Heightmeyer understood why. He didn't like the way she was watching him, her eyes intent on him and missing nothing. He didn't want her to look to closely.
"This doesn't have to be difficult, John."
He hated how condescending she sounded. She was no different from any other shrink. Back on Earth he'd been forced into sessions pre and post mission. The Air Force couldn't have a suicidal pilot flying around. John knew that a couple of the shrinks he'd dealt with had wanted to lock him in a rubber room, but they hadn't been able to break him down. They couldn't prove anything was wrong with him. He wouldn't let Heightmeyer break him down either. So he locked eyes with her and whispered, "It can't be easy."
She looked startled by his words but quickly composed herself, curving her lips into a semblance of a warm smile. "Why not?" she prompted.
"Because nothing in my life is ever easy." John could be honest about that, if nothing else. He felt a cold sweat break out on his skin and he shivered. The pain was twisting inside him now, crawling under his skin. He was desperate to scratch and he tugged at the restraints, silently cursing at them. He wanted Rodney. Rodney would understand. Rodney would help him through this. "Where's McKay?" John asked. Then he cried out, a strangled sound before biting his lip to silence it. The pain was angry at him and lashing out at him. He tried to curl up on his side, to curl inward. He was so damn cold.
"John?" Heightmeyer reached out to him, concern etched in her features.
He closed his eyes, shutting out her face. "Where is...Rodney?" he gritted out between clenched teeth. He whimpered again and bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. The pain was slashing into him now, striping his flesh like barbed coils from a whip. Lash after lash until he felt himself jerk with each hit. He wanted to scream but he would not make a sound. A whimper tried to escape and John choked it down, gagging on it and he tasted bile and his stomach clenched then heaved and it felt like drowning.
"Dr. Beckett!" Heightmeyer was shouting now.
John felt something cold touch his chest as he struggled to suck air into his lungs. Then something rough brushed his face then fingers stroking his hair as he gagged again. Every breath seared his throat and he felt like he was suffocating and it didn't matter because no one could hear him scream. Only the pain was listening. Gray shadows taunted him, dancing in his head, teasing him as they shaded to black before fading back to gray. He wanted to beg for the darkness as he felt his body unfurl, shuddering open, and he felt a heavy weight pressing into him. He couldn't breathe. The pain wrapped itself around him, squeezing tight. Then everything exploded into white brightness. But it sparkled into black.
John heard the devil laugh.