Rodney stepped through the gate, back to Atlantis, and his first thought was to head for the infirmary to check on Sheppard. Only he was waylaid by Elizabeth. Rodney shook his head at her. "Look...Ford and Teyla can brief you on the mission. Basically it was a bust. Lots of Ancient text but no mention of a ZPM. We got nothing. I'll fill in the rest later. After I see the Major."
"I need to talk to you about him," Elizabeth countered, firmly. And she took Rodney by the arm and led him up to her office.
"Something happened," Rodney guessed, and he felt himself grow pale.
Elizabeth pushed him into a chair then perched on the corner of her desk. She locked eyes with Rodney. "Yes." She spoke softly but clearly. "The major is suffering from severe withdrawal. Convulsions and vomiting and he's drifts in and out of consciousness."
Rodney was stunned. "But...but he's going to be alright...right?"
"Carson believes this might be for the best on the one hand. John doesn't have to deal with the physical aspects of his withdrawal, at least not on a conscious level. Not yet. He's past the worst of it." Elizabeth reached out and gripped Rodney on the shoulder. "We both know how strong he is."
"We keep saying that." Rodney felt worn out and angry and scared.
Elizabeth nodded. "I know. Um...he asked for you."
Rodney stiffened. "I should have been here." He got up and headed for the door.
"He'll get through this, Rodney!" Elizabeth called after him.
Rodney didn't reply. There was nothing he could say to that. It wasn't a question, or a statement. It was just Elizabeth projecting hope. Rodney didn't believe in hope. He just kept walking.
He heard a familiar voice. There had been so many voices in his head and none of them made him feel safe or warm. He had been floating in the dark forever. Floating on a wave that was cold, so cold, and it was wrapped around him, the coldness slicking his skin and seeping inside him. Sometimes it chased away the pain, snuffing out it's glow, and he wanted the pain to come back because at least it burned and it felt warmer and familiar. But the voice was better. It pulled him out of the darkness, tugging hard but the cold tugged back, clinging to him. And the devil laughed. But then something solid touched him and he was floating anymore. He drifted down into a sliver of warmth and the devil stopped laughing.
"Beckett!"
"What is it?"
"He's awake!"
John blinked hard and brought two faces into focus. Rodney and Beckett. He turned his head and saw Rodney's hand on shoulder and he needed to touch it to make sure it was real, that they were real, but he couldn't move his arm. Panic flared up as his eyes slid down to the thick, padded, cuffs that circled his wrists. Kolya was dead. He was home...he was supposed to be home. Why were they doing this to him?
Rodney squeezed Sheppard's shoulder. "It's okay, Major. You're safe and in the infirmary. You know...your home away from home." As he spoke his hand slid down and began undoing the restraints.
"Don't!" Carson made to stop him.
"He's too out of it to do anything!" Rodney snapped back, glaring at Beckett. "Kolya strapped him down and doped him up. You think he doesn't remember that?"
Carson sighed and moved to the other side to free the major's other wrist. "I know," he said sadly, then he looked at Sheppard. "You know I'm just trying to keep you safe, laddie."
John heard the words and knew their meaning but they didn't matter now. He lifted his hand, but it felt so heavy and it was shaking and he was tired. Then he felt strong fingers closing over his and John lifted his eyes to see Rodney smiling at him. Almost smiling. A slight curving of the crooked mouth. John thought he smiled back as his eyes drifted closed.
Hell wasn't fire and brimstone, it was dark shadows and free falling with no one to catch him. It was voices that taunted him and pain that lashed him like a whip. It was the echo of screams in his ears and the raw ache in his throat from holding them in. And through it all John was peripherally aware of faces. Sometimes he remembered talking to them. Weir and Teyla and Ford and Rodney. Beckett seemed to always be there, if only in the background and that comforted John in a weird way. He peeled his eyes open and saw the doctor's blurry visage hovering over him.
"How do you feel, Major?" Carson queried, even as his hands worked at taking Sheppard's vitals.
"How...long?" John winced at the croaking sound that was his voice. He accepted the straw pressed to his lips and sucked down some cool water. It helped. "How long?" he asked again.
Carson set the glass on the table. "Two more days, but you've made it past the worst of it now. Are you in pain?"
John shook his head before thinking about it. "No." But his skin felt slick and his nerve endings were raw and he was gritty and achy and he looked up at Beckett hopefully. "I need a shower."
"You're gonna be weak, laddie." But even as he said it, Carson was easing back the covers. "Hope you're not too modest cause I'll be staying with you."
"I don't care if you wash me." John felt a sudden and desperate need to be clean. To wash away the tingle that was only on the surface of his skin. Maybe he could scrub it out before it permeated his flesh, digging it's way into his soul. He pushed himself up, feeling his arms tremble from the effort and when he slid his legs over the side of the bed and stood up he would have fallen had Beckett not been holding him. "Fuck!" John hated this. Hated being so weak.
Carson seemed to read his mind…"You've been immobile for almost a week, major. It's going to take time."
John knew that. Because of his need he let Beckett practically carry him into the bathroom, but it pissed him off that the man did so with such ease. He managed to get himself undressed and he made it into the shower before Beckett move to help. John let the water wash over him, let it warm him, let it wash away the layers of sweat. He reached for the soap and managed to wash himself through sheer will power, because his muscles felt like rubber and the effort to remain standing made them burn. But it was a good pain.
"Out now before you fall and give yourself a concussion," Carson ordered. And he pulled open the door and reached for Sheppard, tugging him out and wrapping him in a huge towel. He guided him to a nearby chair. "Sit while I get you some clean scrubs."
"You're awfully bossy," John teased, and it felt good to do so.
Carson glared at him, but playfully. "Comes with the territory." He started to leave then stopped to press a hand to Sheppard's forehead. "A bit warm still."
John batted his hand away. "You're going to make a good mother some day," he replied, with a straight face. Then he laughed softly when it took Beckett a moment to realize what he had said.
"I'll be back in a minute," Carson stated, as he shook a finger at the major.
"Yay," John muttered to himself, as he sagged back into the chair . He was so damn tired and he hated how weak he was. But he would work past this. He would be strong again. His eyelids felt heavy so he let them close for a moment, but blinked them back open when he heard the soft echo of laughter. The devil was laughing at him. "Fuck you!" John snarled out loud. "You're dead, Kolya! Fucking die already!"
"Major?"
He jumped at the sound of Beckett's voice. He hadn't heard him come back in. John took a deep breath to calm himself then plastered a smile on his face. "Sorry...don't mind me."
Carson nodded and held out the scrubs. "It's going to take time to heal," he said gently.
"I know." John knew that better than anyway. And he also knew that not all wounds would heal.
"I'll be outside if you need me." Carson backed out and closed the door.
John pushed to his feet, dropped the towel and got dressed. He made it out the door on his own but let Beckett support him a bit as they made the return trip to his bed. "When can I go back to my room?" John asked.
Carson made a face. "Maybe in a day or two. I need to monitor you for a bit longer. The worst is over but it's still going to be rough going, laddie."
"Yeah." John might have said more but as they reached his bed he caught sight of a figure hovering next to it. Rodney. John felt a wash of anger and it startled him. He said nothing as Beckett helped him get settled back into bed, and was distracted enough by Rodney's presence not to mind when Beckett fussed with his covers.
"I'm going to get you something to eat, Major," Carson said, as he smoothed a hand over the blankets one last time. "And you will eat."
John glanced at him and nodded. "Right." But food was the last thing on his mind. He watched Beckett leave then turned to focus all of his attention on McKay. "Rodney," John drawled. And he was surprised by how sharp his voice sounded.
Rodney stopped wringing his hands and grabbed the ever present stool. He dragged it over and sat down. "How are you feeling?"
"Better." John gritted out the word through clenched teeth. The anger was pushing up from his gut into his throat and he had to swallow back what he really wanted to say.
"I'm sorry." Rodney was watching him closely, intently.
John was surprised enough gape at him. "Sorry?" he echoed.
Rodney nodded. "For not being here. Elizabeth sent us off in search of a ZPM."
"I see." John hadn't thought about the fact that Rodney might have a reason to be gone. But that he had been gone on a mission just fueled his anger back into full flame. "Us...as in you and Ford and Teyla?"
"Yeah. Wasn't the same without you." Rodney almost managed a grin. "Ford is a pain in the ass when he's in charge. Worse than you."
John realized why he was angry now. They had gone out without him. The anger receded a bit leaving anxiety in it's place. "Did you find the ZPM?"
Rodney shook his head. "Dead end." He stared at John again, as if trying to look right through him, then he stood up and began to pace.
For a moment John simply watched him pacing then he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong only Rodney spoke first.
"Why did you do it?"
"What?" John was confused.
Rodney stopped pacing and glared at him. "You were doing so well! You were almost there! Almost back to normal!" Rodney's voice rose in volume and pitch with each statement.
John felt the itch prickling under his skin and he lifted one hand to scratch at it, absently. He didn't look at Rodney as he whispered, "You don't understand."
"Explain it to me!" Rodney grabbed John's forearm and almost shook him. "What the fuck were you thinking?"
"Leave me alone!" The anger was back and John embraced it. The itch receded back to a prickle as he glared back at Rodney.
Rodney held his ground. "That's not going to happen, Major," he snapped back. "You can't do this alone and you know it."
John shook his head. Rodney did not understand. None of them did. There was nothing they could do to help him. "I'm tired."
"I know you are." Rodney's tone was sympathetic, but the words were still tight. "But this isn't going to go away just because you don't want to deal with it."
"No kidding!" John could be just as sarcastic as McKay when he wanted to be.
Rodney dropped back down onto the stool. "No time like the present to get back on track, Major. So talk to me."
John felt a throbbing in his temples and he rubbed them with his fingertips. "I'm not going to do this now," he ground out.
"Yeah, you are." Rodney looked grim. "Heightmeyer will be here any minute. Didn't Beckett mention that?"
"No…he didn't." And that made the anger flare up again and John clenched the sheets in both hands. He wanted everyone to leave him the fuck alone. "I won't talk to her!"
Rodney sighed. "You don't have a choice."
John glared at him, even though it wasn't really Rodney he was mad at. But he made a good target for the moment. "Like hell I don't!"
"Don't you want to get better?" Rodney fired the question at Sheppard like a bullet from a gun.
"She can't help me!" John wanted Rodney to understand that. Rodney was smart. He should understand. The itch was back, burning as it seeped under his skin. John shook with the effort it took not to dig his nails into his flesh.
Rodney reached out and tapped Sheppard on the shoulder, waiting until he looked at him to speak. "She helped me," he said softly.
John closed his eyes. "I'm not you." He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The itch was spreading now, slithering into his belly and John curled up into himself.
"Don't you want to get better, Major?" Rodney waited for a reply but when none was forthcoming he said, "I want you to get better. I want you to go back out through the gate. Where you belong. Because you don't belong here, Major."
"Yeah." John wanted to believe that. But it was hard to think now. He felt a cold sweat slick his skin then Rodney's hand was in his hair, smoothing over it to soothe him. But his body felt raw and open and John flinched away. He tried to focus. "I miss it..." He missed flying too.
Rodney started to speak then stopped.
John heard footsteps and opened his eyes. He saw Heightmeyer walking towards him. He wasn't ready for this. He listened to the devil laugh.