John came to awareness slowly. He had been drifting in hazy darkness, mostly shades of gray. But even when the darkness had been black velvet warmth, the pain had rippled through it, slashing patterns of scarlet that felt burned into his flesh. The darkness shaded to white and it made his eyes ache, even though they were still closed.
He didn't want to open them. The pain was vibrating now. He could hear it more than feel it. But the itch was burning just beneath his skin and he wanted desperately to scratch at it but his hands were trapped at his sides. John knew he was in restraints. And he knew he was not alone. He knew it was Rodney who kept vigil. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Rodney was sitting on the stool, next to the bed. The legs screeched on the floor as he stood up. But he didn't move any closer. "Major?"
John winced at how loudly McKay's voice echoed in his ears. He said nothing in return but shifted his head on the pillow. He had to blink a few times to bring McKay into sharp focus. He looked drawn and tired and solemn. That rattled John a bit. Especially the fact that Rodney seemed so utterly...still.
"Can I ask you a question?" Rodney's voice was edgy and impatient now.
He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to answer questions. He just wanted everyone to leave him alone. John wanted Rodney to understand that. He looked at him for a moment, then looked away. He said nothing.
Rodney sighed, heavily. Then he asked his question. "Do you want to die?"
That startled John and he flinched, but he still would not reply. The pain was waking up, prickling over his skin, dancing here and there, a counterpoint to the itch and burn that slithered through his veins. John shifted away from Rodney, wanting to shut him out. He tugged on the restraints, hating the way they made him feel. He was still trapped and still scared and that made him angry. The anger burned in his gut and seared him from the inside out. Rodney could go to hell!
"If you want to die then I wash my hands of you!" Rodney's voice was cold and sharp and he almost snarled the words.
And the words stung. John flinched as if punched in the gut. The pain that taunted him wrapped around him, snake-like and he almost welcomed the pressure. It was almost comforting in it's familiarity. What Rodney was saying scared the hell out of John. He felt sickened at the thought that Rodney was giving up on him. But still he said nothing. There was nothing to say. He closed his eyes and waited for Rodney to walk away.
But Rodney moved closer, fingers closing over the bedrails and gripping until his knuckles turned white. His voice softened. "But if you want to live, Major...I'll help you. It's your choice."
John shifted towards Rodney but could not meet his gaze, but he could feel the intensity of it fixated on him. He wasn't sure what he wanted anymore. He was so tired of everything. Sometimes breathing seemed so fucking complicated. He wanted to be numb. He wanted to fade into oblivion. But when he felt a hand touch his shoulder, John had to look up. And what he saw in Rodney's eyes made him want to look away. Shimmering in the blue depths was a flicker of hope. A little flame that John did not want to extinguish. But he wasn't ready for this. For any of it. He wasn't strong enough and he thought Rodney knew that. But even now he could see the hope sliding into disappointment and that twisted John's insides into knots. As Rodney turned away he whispered, "I don't want to die."
"Good answer." Rodney was smiling and he reached out again, this time squeezing Sheppard's shoulder.
"Okay," John breathed softly. And he let the warmth of Rodney's hope wrap around him, chasing away the cold chill of denial.
Two days passed in somewhat of a haze for John. He was released from the restraints and Beckett fussed over him, while Rodney explained his plan. It seemed almost too simple and John was still a bit surprised that Weir and Beckett had agreed to it. But here he was, wandering around in an area of Atlantis he had never seen before. Weir was watching him while Rodney was with Beckett, who was going over some medical things with him. John didn't know what they were doing nor did he care. He took the time to wander about the rooms he would be staying in. The place was like a small apartment with a large bedroom, that had a rather large bed plus a cot. John had already teased Rodney by calling dibs on the bed. There was a bathroom and a kitchen like area and what could pass for a livingroom space that had a table set up.
Finishing up his tour, John found Weir in the bedroom, sitting on the cot. "Nice digs," he stated, smiling at her. He was relieved when she smiled back.
"Are you ready for this, John?" she asked, the smile slipping a bit.
"Hell if I know." He paced around the room. He wasn't sure about anything. But Rodney seemed certain about everything and John was going to trust him. Trust him enough to be locked in with him for however long it took to go cold turkey. No weaning him off the Red Sun this time, just letting what remained in his blood stream run it's course until it was gone. Beckett seemed positive that it would work it's way out of his system and then he could get back to the life he used to live, not this cold facsimile of living. John was all for that. Even though he wasn't sure he remembered what his life used to be like before the pain and burn that consumed him now. He felt the burn ripple over his skin and his fingers scrabbled after it, nails biting through his shirt sleeve and digging in until he heard the sound of Rodney's voice and his hand jerked away to fall to his side. He had to curl his fingers into a fist to keep them still.
Rodney was smiling as he approached Sheppard. "Everything is set up. We have everything we need. Medical supplies, food, clothing and toiletries. You have your book and I have my lap top so...we're good to go. I mean...if you're ready."
John couldn't help but smile at Rodney's enthusiasm. He couldn't help but feel hopeful, even though he could hear the devil laughing in his head. "I'm ready," he said firmly.
"Good luck, Major. Rodney." Weir stood up and nodded to them both before heading for the door.
Dr. Beckett was already on the outside. He waved then closed the door.
John heard the sound of a lock being snapped into place. He knew that Rodney had made sure to use a standard lock to seal them in. Relying on the ancient locks wasn't an option because it would be to easy for John to let himself out. This way, they had to be let out. The pain lurking beneath the surface of his skin, skittered about, as if taunt him. John set his teeth and refused to scratch.
Rodney was watching him. "Remember, I'll have to draw blood from you every day so Beckett can test it."
"I remember." John felt tired all of the sudden. Tired and scared and the walls looked like they were closing in fast. But when he looked at Rodney, Rodney seemed to be okay. So John smiled at him and asked, "Know how to play Gin Rummy?"
"Of course." Rodney looked smug.
It made John laugh, but the sound almost stuck in his throat, as if he had forgotten how. He coughed slightly then headed for the bedroom. He remembered that the card were on the night stand. He snatched them up then found Rodney already sitting at the table. John sat down across from him and opened the deck, but they slithered from his hands, which he realized were shaking. "Maybe this is a bad idea."
Rodney scooped up the cards. "It's fine," he said firmly.
"Thirsty?" John jumped up out of the chair. It was too hard to be still, he needed to keep moving. If he stood still too long the pain could wrap around him too tight.
"I wouldn't mind something cold," Rodney allowed.
John nodded and headed for the kitchen area. There was a cupboard like spot that worked as a refrigerator unit. John opened it and scooped out two bottles of water. He brought them back to the table and handed one to Rodney. Neither one of them missed how badly his hand was shaking. John knew he couldn't do this. He turned away, uncapping the bottle, fumbling the cap and cursing before lifting the bottle to his lips and draining half the contents. But he still felt thirsty and hot, but cold on the inside.
Rodney moved behind him. "It's going to be okay." He had the cap in his hand and he took Sheppard's bottle and screwed it on before setting it aside. "Maybe you should lie down for a while?"
"No...I'm good." John was lying but he desperately wanted it to be true. But it wouldn't be. This was a mistake, a big mistake. He couldn't do this. He started pacing, his arms folded over his chest, fingers digging into his forearms but holding on tight, not clawing at the burn. But it taunted him, prickling beneath his skin.
"Do you surf?" The question was casual enough but Rodney's tone sounded desperate.
John froze and turned to face him, eyes narrowed as in confusion. But then it hit him what Rodney was doing. Offering him a distraction, and he was grateful for it. This was almost as familiar as the pain. "Why do you ask?" John managed to make his tone light.
Rodney shrugged, a sharp jerking of his shoulders, betraying his nervousness. "You mentioned surfing being in our future after you and Ford discovered the mainland."
"Oh...yeah." John remembered that, even though it seemed like it was a lifetime ago. "Yeah...I surf."
"I've always wanted to try it."
John was surprised by that. "Really?" It was hard to picture Rodney on a surfboard, but John gave it a shot. And the image made him chuckle.
Rodney glared at him in true Rodney fashion. "What's so funny?"
"You on a surf board." John smiled at him. "I could teach you sometime. I mean...if we can find some surf boards." Which he knew wasn't likely. They probably had a better chance of finding gold. The irony being they would have no place to spend it if they did.
"I could make some boards," Rodney offered.
John blinked at him. "Really?"
Rodney nodded. "Really."
"That's cool." John might have said more but the pain was tired of being ignored and it dug into him, grinding into his flesh and he bit his lip to hold back a cry of pain.
"What can I do to help?" Rodney was by his side, hands gripping Sheppard's shoulders, guiding him into the bedroom and onto the bed.
John didn't know what to tell him. He couldn't think of an answer. He curled up onto his side, the fingers of one hand digging into the blanket under him. He felt himself rocking as the pain unfurled itself inside him. It felt white-hot, searing his nerve endings where it touched, jolting him like knife points stabbing into him and he couldn't remember it being this intense before. The itch worked in tandem with the pain, and it made him want to scream until his throat was raw. But he swallowed back the sound, even though a whimper escaped him. John curled up tighter, feeling the cold sweat that slicked his skin. Feeling the texture of the cloth Rodney used to wipe his face. He pulled away, scrabbling back off the bed, almost crawling into the corner and stuffing himself inside it.
His skin was crackling with the burn and he had to dig at it, fingernails burrowing deep, gouging out furrows of red until fingers gripped his wrists like bands of steel, dragging him down, a weight pressing over him until he couldn't breathe and he was begging and sobbing, screaming after all.
And he still heard the devil laughing, even after everything faded to black.