John didn't allow himself a chance to fall apart. He knew he was barely holding it together, but he also knew he couldn't afford the luxury of wallowing in self-pity. So he shook off the memories of what had happened and detached himself, as much as possible, from what he was feeling. He had to stop focusing on himself. What mattered now was getting his team through this particular hell. Emotional trauma was a lot harder to deal with than anything physical. John knew that from experience.
The first thing he did was head to his room to brush his teeth and make certain he was calm. He then headed out with the intention of hunting down Rodney, when he turned the corner of the hallway and almost - literally - ran into Beckett.
"Where the bloody hell have you been, Major?" Carson blasted him. "I've been trying to radio you for the past twenty minutes."
"You have?" Instinctively, John's hand rose to his ear. No radio. "Huh...I guess I left it in my room." Which still didn't explain why he didn't hear Beckett trying to contact him. Then again, he'd had the water running and the bathroom door closed. "Sorry...what's up?" John asked. "Did something happen?" He could all too easily imagine one of his team in trouble.
Carson shook his head, the worry in his eyes easing a bit. "No one called in," he stated. "I was looking for you though, for a check over."
John frowned at him. "A checkover?" he echoed. "Why? You did that when I left the infirmary."
"That was before Zelenka called to tell me you'd been throwing up."
"Rat bastard!" John hissed, the words out before he could stop them. He wasn't really mad at Zelenka. He knew the guy was just trying to help. "Look...doc...I'm fine. I just ate something that didn't agree with me."
Carson had his arms folded over his chest as he asked, "And just what did you eat? I contacted the mess hall, Major, you haven't been there today."
John winced, knowing he had been caught out. "Okay...you got me. I had a powerbar for breakfast and it just didn't settle well. Okay?"
"Not okay." Carson reached out and grabbed the major by the arm. "Come on, now. A quick exam and you'll either be on your way or back in a bed."
"I haven't had a chance to talk to my team about the session," John protested, trying to pull his arm free. A motion that pulled on his sore ribs, making him gasp a bit. His headache wasn't helping him stay focused either and he swayed and would have fallen if Beckett hadn't been holding on to him.
Carson slipped into full doctor mode. "That's it. I'm calling for a gurney."
John did not want to hear that. "No...you don't need to do that. I'm okay. I can walk." A voice in his head kept reminding him that he couldn't show weakness of any kind right now.
"Maybe you can, Major," Carson allowed, as he tightened his hold on Sheppard's arm. "But you're not going to walk. You're going to sit tight until the gurney gets here." That said, he tapped his earpiece, contacted a nurse, and ordered her to bring a gurney to the major's quarters immediately.
"I need to sit," John said suddenly. He felt a wave of vertigo that made his head flip flop before twisting into knots. Nausea set in and his vision started to gray out.
Carson was watching him and he quickly eased him down to the floor. "Head between your knees, Major," he said firmly.
John felt a warm hand on the back of his neck and he didn't resist the pressure. After a few slow, deep, breaths, he felt better. "I'm okay," he said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. Then he shifted a bit and pressed an arm against his ribs to ease the ache there.
"Aye...you will be," Carson stated. "Once I get an IV in you and you manage to keep some food down."
"I think I can walk now." John really didn't want a gurney ride to the infirmary. It would be admitting to his weakness. It would be a confirmation that he was messed up. That what had happened on that godforsaken planet was affecting him. Which he wasn't about to let happen.
Carson heaved a sigh and set a heavy hand on Sheppard's shoulder. "You're in no condition to walk right now, son...and you know it. Need I remind you that you have a concussion and...I'm starting to think...cracked ribs? To be honest, you're usually much better at taking care of yourself than this."
John opened his mouth to reply to that, then snapped it closed. He couldn't argue with Beckett because the man was right. He usually took better care of himself, knowing his body's limits and trying not to push past them too often. He had to be one hundred percent in the past to be able to fly. Now he had to be fit to protect Atlantis. To protect his team. "I...I'm just a little tired," John conceded.
"I can see that," Carson countered softly, and with a smile. "Look...there's your ride."
"Great." John heard the transporter doors down the hallway whoosh open and suddenly a nurse was there with a gurney. He didn't protest as Beckett helped him to his feet. He did, however, insist on getting on the damn thing on his own. John didn't reveal to Beckett the fact that it felt good to lay back. Good enough to let his eyes close and let himself drift a bit.
Drifting apparently slid right by dozing and into a deep sleep. It was a nightmare that jerked John awake and he flinched when a warm hand touched his arm.
"Sorry...sorry." The hand was removed.
He recognized McKay's voice and peeled open his eyes. John had to blink hard to bring the other man into focus. Then suddenly there was motion on his other side and he turned his head to see both Teyla and Ford standing there. Apparently he had been out longer than he realized. "Hey," John croaked, then he coughed and curled into himself a bit.
Teyla was there with a hand on his forehead, then offering a glass with a straw. "Drink some water," she told him.
John took a few sips and felt better. Even managed to smile at her. "Thanks. Uh...how long was I out?"
"Four hours," Rodney replied, glancing at his watch. But he looked distracted and his hair was standing on end as if he had combed his fingers through it repeatedly. Which wasn't a normal McKay action.
"Did something happen?" John asked, unable to hide his concern. His team looked like hell. Death warmed over. Looking at them, John felt a ripple of fear. They were all so fucked up right now, only none of them had the luxury of falling apart. Atlantis needed them, all of them, whole.
Teyla managed a shaky smile as she shook her nothing. "No...nothing happened," she assured him. "We were just..."
Ford stepped closer and finished her sentence. "We were worried about you, sir."
"I'm fine." The lie came tumbling out and John managed to hold Ford's gaze. He knew he could help the young man come to grips with what had happened. John knew that so long as he was strong enough, he could get them all through this. And that was exactly what he was going to do.
"You don't look fine." Rodney was peering at him, intently.
John could imagine he looked like shit, but he grinned at McKay. "I've been better but I've been worse," he conceded. "I'm just tired."
Teyla touched his hand, her fingers trembling a bit. "They beat you." It was a statement rather than a question.
"Roughed me up a little bit," John allowed, because he wasn't going to lie to them when he didn't have too. "It's nothing," he said firmly, holding her gaze until she was the one to look away. John figured maybe now would be a good time to talk to them about Heightmeyer's idea. But even as he opened his mouth, he heard footsteps and Beckett was suddenly there, fussing over him.
"How are you feeling, Major?" Carson asked, as he checked on Sheppard's pulse.
Swallowing a sigh, John managed a mangled smirk as he replied, "I'll live."
Carson glanced up at him at that, eyes narrowing with suspicion. Then he queried, "How's your head feeling?"
"Aches a little, I can deal," John was quick to reply. He knew his team was listening and watching and he wanted them to see that he was okay. Better than okay.
"I'll get you some Tylenol," Carson stated. "Feel up to trying some soup?"
John hid a wince. He wasn't hungry but he knew he needed to fuel his body. "Sure. Listen...when can I get out of here?"
Carson scratched his chin as he considered his reply. "You've got a shot at getting out after breakfast, if you have a good night." There was a world of meaning in his words.
"I'm sure I'll sleep straight through," John stated, his eyes flickering to his teammates. They looked so damn scared and haunted and lost that it made him ache to look at them.
"I'll get that soup," Carson said softly, his eyes following Sheppard's, then he gave a slight nod of understanding.
Once Beckett was gone, John cleared his throat. He wasn't surprised when Rodney, Teyla and Ford formed a circle around his bed. He realized they felt the need to stay close to him. To be as connected as possible. John hoped that what he had planned would help them. He didn't know what else to do. "I talked to Heightmeyer earlier," he blurted out, taking note that it got their attention.
Rodney commented first. "I have to admit...I'm surprised. I thought you hated shrinks?"
"I do, but I figure she can help," John responded. He held Rodney's gaze until McKay turned away, then he focused on Teyla, knowing that she would be the one he would, most likely, be able to convince first. "I know none of you want to do sessions, because you don't want to have to talk about what happened." John knew all too well how they felt. Reliving that particular hell was the last thing he wanted to do. But he knew they had to face it if they were going to move on, and he wanted his team back and fully functional.
"Talking won't help," Ford whispered, sounding broken.
John turned to him. "Maybe not...but it can't hurt, can it?"
Ford shrugged then locked eyes with his CO. "You don't like to talk about anything."
"True." John couldn't deny that one. "But you don't have to talk if you don't want too. You can just listen and maybe that will help."
"Listen to what?" It was Rodney who asked the question and he looked both curious and hopeful.
John knew they were all desperate for some kind of relief. Nightmares sucked when they haunted you even when you were awake. "Heightmeyer thinks that we should do group therapy. I told her how reluctant you guys were to talk to her and I told her it was due, in part, because she can't understand what you went through. So...she thought maybe we could help each other." John included himself because he wanted them to understand that they were in this together.
There was a long moment of silence and John felt agitation wash over him, his own nightmares creeping up on him. Just when he felt the need to say something more, anything that would convince them, Teyla spoke.
"I will to this," she said softly.
"Good." John smiled warmly, seeing the desperation in her eyes that she was trying to so hard to quell. And he was grateful to her to agreeing so easily, setting the lead for the others. John wasn't sure what else he could have said to convince them.
Ford was jittery and looked scared. He focused on Sheppard. "Are you sure it's a good idea, sir?" he asked.
John didn't hesitate. "I do."
"Okay...I'll do it then," Ford stated, and he looked relieved. Still shell-shocked, but relieved.
"Rodney?" John turned to the Astrophysicist, who was pacing and scrubbing a hand over his head in a repeated gesture.
Freezing suddenly, Rodney locked eyes with Sheppard. He said nothing for a long moment then he mumbled, "Yes, yes...I'll be there. If I'm not busy!" He qualified that statement with a stabbing finger motion in Sheppard's direction.
John knew that Rodney would be there and he was content. At least as much as he could be. "I'll have Beckett set up the time," John announced.
"Time for what?" Carson countered, as he entered the room with a mug of steaming liquid in one hand.
"The group therapy session with Heightmeyer," John replied.
Carson looked surprised. "You're all agreed?"
John nodded. "Can you set it up for tomorrow afternoon?" He figured he'd be out of the infirmary by then, and they needed to do something as soon as possible. He needed his team back.
"How about the following day?" Carson countered, handing the mug over to Sheppard. "Sip it, it's hot," he ordered, interrupting himself for a moment. Then he continued with, "You might not be up to it, Major. Not by tomorrow."
"I'll be ready," John said, his tone a bit sharp as he locked his gaze on Beckett. He was relieved when the doctor nodded.
"Fine, I'll set it up," Carson said, then he looked at the others. "Time to clear out, Major Sheppard needs to rest. You can come back later."
With Teyla taking the lead, they all filed out.
John took a sip of soup. It was a bit bland but he drank it anyway. He had to be out of here by tomorrow. But when Carson started fussing over him he asked, "Can you give them something to help them sleep. They need to be as clearheaded as possible to deal with this tomorrow."
"I'll take care of them," Carson promised. "I'm going to set up a corner here, so they can be with you. It seems to help."
"Good." John might have said more but a yawn overtook him.
Carson grabbed the mug before it could slip out of his hand. "I'll warm it up for you later. Sleep now. You need it more than they do."
John didn't argue. He watched as Beckett injected his IV with something to help him sleep, and he embraced the warm darkness that wrapped around him. He wanted the oblivion. If only for a little while.