John felt gritty and itchy. He also felt like every muscle in his body had been pulled or strained. And even as he peeled open his eyes and shifted his head, he knew he didn't want to move. And when he did attempt to sit up, his arms shook as they supported his weight. He felt so damn weak and so damn tired.
"How do you feel?"
He jumped at the question and turned his head to find Rodney sitting on the cot, staring at him. "Not sure," John croaked, then he coughed from the dryness in his throat. Just one more thing that ached and he swallowed hard, even as one hand lifted and his finger nails clawed into his forearm.
Rodney offered him a glass of water, watching as he drank. He took it back when John was done. "Better?"
"A little." John went back to scratching his arm, until Rodney gripped his wrist.
"Stop." Rodney's tone was sharp.
John tugged free and made to stand. He faltered and his knees buckled, but he felt Rodney catch him. "Fuck!" John hissed, through gritted teeth. He was tired of feeling detached from his own body. This mass of flesh that itched and burned and betrayed him felt like it belonged to someone else. He had never been this weak. It was like his skin didn't fit. Like it was too tight. "I'm okay," he said, as he found his footing. But even though Rodney let him go, John noticed he hovered nearby. When he stepped away from the bed, Rodney followed. "I'm going to take a shower," John stated, before Rodney could ask. He felt sticky and dirty and he hoped the water might wash away the itch this time.
Rodney followed him into the bathroom, not moving even when John glared at him. "I'm not leaving you alone, Major, so get over it."
"I can shower on my own, Rodney." John realized he sounded like he was begging, rather than making a statement of fact.
"You might pass out...you could drown."
John almost laughed at that. Almost...because he knew that Rodney believed it to be a possibility and he was just trying to take care of him. Sometimes Rodney was just so painfully...Rodney. John lifted his eyes to lock with blue. "I'll be okay," he promised, and he was relieved when Rodney finally nodded.
But even as Rodney backed up to the door he stated, "Call me if you need me. I'll be right outside. Listening."
"To what? I have to warn you, I like to sing in the shower." John realized he was grinning and it felt a bit awkward. Like it was something he had to practice doing and it struck him how long it had been since he felt like smiling. "I like to sing loud," he continued, watching Rodney's face contort into a grimace. "Opera." That last bit made Rodney fly out of the room. Only to pop his head back in as he reached for the door handle.
"Sorry." Rodney yanked the door closed.
But John noticed he didn't close it all the way. It was slightly ajar. And it was all the way across the room. At least eight steps away and John didn't have the energy to go that far. So he settled for stripping off his clothes and stepping into the shower. He turned on the water then pressed himself into the corner until it heated up. Then with soap in hand, he stood beneath the pounding spray, letting it soothe away the ache. But the itch remained and John felt like screaming in frustration.
Scratching his fingers through the soap that slicked his skin, John dug in deep, almost relishing the pain. It kept him focused. And it was only when it began to sting did John realized he was bleeding. He shivered as he rinsed off, then he kept the water running as he slipped out and toweled dry. He started to curse at himself for not remember to bring any clean clothes in with him when he noticed a neatly folded pile sitting on the floor, just inside the door. "Thank you, Rodney," John whispered, as he retrieved the pile then slipped on the boxers and jeans. He didn't pull his shirt on yet because he was still bleeding. His left forearm mostly. So John wrapped the edge of the towel around his arm and held it clamped to his side as he searched in the compartment over the sink for bandages.
He was pleased to find some gauze, but soon realized he wouldn't be able to wrap his arm on his own. And even as John turned, with the intent of calling Rodney, he realized McKay was standing just inside the door. Watching him.
"I got worried," Rodney stated, unapologetically.
"Sorry." John moved to turn the shower off but Rodney beat him too it. Then he moved to turn back to the sink and the gauze, but Rodney was grabbing his arm and peeling back the towel.
Sadness warred with sympathy in Rodney's eyes. Sadness won out as he pulled John over to sit on the toilet seat. "Why do you do that?" he asked, as he studied the bloody furrows.
Leave it to Rodney to be so blunt while being nosy, John thought to himself. But at least McKay had a gentle touch. John watched him pat at the wounds to make them stop bleeding. Then he realized McKay was still waiting for him to answer. "It itches. But I can't scratch deep enough to make it stop." John watched Rodney's face as he spoke, and he realized he was rather hoping that McKay would come up with some solution. Rodney was a genius, maybe he could make the pain and the burn go away.
"I wish there was something I could do," Rodney whispered. He found some white ointment in the cabinet and read the label. Then he smoothed some over the grooves. When John twitched he stopped. "Am I hurting you?"
"You can't hurt me, Rodney," John replied. And it was a simple truth that was almost scary. Rodney didn't have that kind of power. Or maybe he did but it would be a different kind of pain. John shook his head, not wanting to think about it.
Rodney said nothing more as he wrapped the gauze around John's arm then taped it.
John pulled away the moment Rodney was finished, reaching for his tee shirt, only his knees buckled as his body's weakness made itself felt and he was grateful for the arms that caught him and steadied him. But he was angry at himself for being so out of control. "I'm good!" John hissed, as he straightened and pulled away again. He tugged on his shirt then headed for the door. He could feel Rodney on his heels. John felt anxious and jumpy and restless. He wanted to be doing something but his body would not cooperate. He barely made it over to the bed before his knees buckled.
"Rest for a bit," Rodney advised. He was wringing his hands but just stood by the bed. He didn't try to be helpful.
"I guess I have to," John allowed, as he settled himself against the pillows. He tried to keep the anger from his voice. Rodney didn't deserve that. And he was grateful to him for not hovering, although John could tell he wanted to fuss over him. Beckett would be proud of Rodney. Letting his eyes drift closed, John figured he would just try and relax for a moment, but he became aware of movement beside him and a hand pressed to his forehead and panic set in. John slapped the hand away as he opened his eyes and he expected to see Kolya's face. But it was Rodney who stared back at him and everything spun into focus. John raised a shaky hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry...guess I dozed off."
Rodney nodded. "You did, for about an hour. I brought lunch."
John sighed as he slid off the bed and he still felt weak, which annoyed him to no end. "I'm not hungry, Rodney."
"You have to eat." Rodney blocked John from stepping away.
"I'll eat later." But when John tried to move around Rodney, he found his way blocked again. "Move!" John snapped.
Rodney held fast. "No."
John was almost surprised by the stubborn glare Rodney directed at him. "Don't push me, Rodney," he warned.
"You're going to eat!" Rodney grabbed John by the arm and pushed him back down onto the bed. Then he grabbed the lap tray which contained a thick sandwich, and set it on John's lap.
"I said I'm not hungry!" With that John grabbed the tray and hurled it across the room. His chest was heaving, anger burning deep inside him, awakening the other burn which started trickling into his veins. John ignored it, all of his attention focused on Rodney and what Rodney would do next.
After holding John's glare for a moment, Rodney simply moved to pick up the mess. He took it to the kitchen area and returned a moment later. With a power bar. He grabbed John's hand and smacked the bar into his palm. "Eat." Just one word, calmly spoken, but Rodney was deadly serious.
John knew they were engaged in a war of the wills. He laughed to himself. Rodney had no clue what to do in battle. Lips twisting into a smirk, John held up his hand and crushed the bar before tossing it onto the floor.
"I'll get you another one." Rodney turned to go.
"Don't," John ground out.
But Rodney did just that.
John followed him, cursing the trembling in his body that made him falter a bit. But that was when his anger started kicking up a notch, easing into a full blown rage, and the sudden adrenaline burst gave John the jolt he needed to beat Rodney to his destination. This time he blocked Rodney's way. "Leave me the fuck alone!" John raged at him.
"You have to eat, Major." Rodney spoke calmly and precisely, standing there with his arms folded across his chest.
"You're not my mother, Rodney! So back off!" John took a step closer, hands curling into fists, posture menacing as he advanced.
But Rodney didn't move or change expressions. "No...not your mother," he allowed. "But I am your friend. And you need to eat. And you will eat."
John didn't hesitate. He cocked back his fist then slammed it into Rodney's face, seeing McKay's expression falter in that moment before he connected. Then Rodney was on the floor and John was turning away. The pain seemed to like this anger, it fed upon it, sucking it in before blowing it out so that it could ripple over John's skin even as it seeped deep inside him, twisting in his gut. He moved to the nearest wall and punched it. He felt the jarring impact all the way into his shoulder, but that didn't stop him from drawing his arm back to do it again. Only to find himself slammed into by a solid weight and then he was on the floor. He saw Rodney over him and then he was being pinned down and John bucked up, heaving with all his might to get him off.
"Stop hurting yourself!" Rodney was the one screaming now. He pressed John into the floor and held fast against the thrashing.
"Get off me! You sonofabitch!" John kept bucking and heaving and twisting but he couldn't get Rodney off him . He couldn't break free. The pressure held fast, held him down, and his body shuddered in reaction, waiting for the pain to prick him, but it was like a cloak now, settling over him, washing away the burn, just for this moment in time, and there was only the pain. Only the soothing, searing, rhythm of it and it made his body tremble. But it was familiar and John embraced it. He felt himself relaxing into it.
Rodney's eyes went wide as John turned white and went limp, but he could still feel the slim body shuddering with tremors. "Fuck...FUCK! Major!" Rodney shook him but John's eyes, though open, were blank. Thankfully it didn't last long and suddenly Sheppard was rigid, eyes wide open, sucking in air. And Rodney reacted on instinct. He hauled him upright just in time for John to vomit. He held him as more yellow bile hit the floor. Then John was shaking hard and trying to curl into himself and Rodney knew the pain was back, full force. He got into a crouch, pulling John with him, then lifted him into his arms. It was scarily easy to lift the major. He was far too light for his body structure, far too fragile.
Moving quickly, Rodney took Sheppard into the bedroom and placed him on the bed. He grabbed a blanket, wrapped it around the shuddering form, then drew him back into his arms and held on tight.
John heard snoring. Heard it and felt it. The solid bulk behind him was vibrating. He shifted over then turned his head and almost smiled as he watched Rodney sleeping. Would have smiled if it wasn't for the dark and ugly bruise that marred Rodney's face. And his eye looked puffy. Closing his eyes, John relieved the moment he had slugged his friend. Slugged him with the intent of hurting him. Wanting to hurt him.
Tears burned in his eyes as John slid off the bed. He felt weak as a newborn kitten. Weak and cold and damp and gritty. His legs wouldn't hold him so John crawled into the corner. He stuffed himself into it as far as he would go, then he drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He was so cold, so damn cold. Not even the burn of the itch that tingled over his skin could warm him. Still staring at Rodney's sleeping form, John let his head bang back against the wall. Over and over and over again.
Rodney heard the thudding sound. It was more annoying than the incessant buzzing of an alarm clock. He wanted to sleep, but it dragged him to consciousness, so he opened his eyes, wincing at the soreness in his left eye, then he carefully blinked everything into focus. What he saw made him scramble off the bed.
John felt the hands on his face, stopping the rhythm of his thuds. Making the pain crackle back over him. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the sadness in Rodney's. Not wanting to see the other man's pain and pity.
"Don't..." Rodney whispered.
"I'm sorry...I'm sorry.." John spoke so softly that he wondered if Rodney could hear him. So he said it again. "Sorry...sorry…sorry..." He said it over and over again, wanting to make sure Rodney heard him. Then he felt himself wrapped in warm hardness. Felt the thudding of a heartbeat against his cheek. Felt the rhythm that Rodney set and the soft whispers meant to soothe him. But John could still hear the devil laughing.