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He jolted awake, a cry strangling in his throat, body shuddering, skin slicked with cold sweat. Another nightmare. John stared at his shaking hands for a moment, peripherally aware of the dim lighting, before scrubbing at his face. The dream was different this time. He dreamed about the knife hovering over his eyes in the instant before it stabbed into one. Only this time Ford was holding the knife, snarling at John that this was his punishment for allowing the torture. And it was the Ford from now, not from when they had been captured. The Ford who was all fucked up and desperate and ready to die to end this nightmare.

Sliding out of bed, John headed for the bathroom. Once there, he fell to his knees and dry-heaved over the toilet. There was nothing left in his stomach to bring up, just the hot - raw - coil of nausea, twisting and tightening in his gut. Once John was able to stop gagging, he sagged back against the wall, letting seconds tick by as he tried to pull himself together. After a time he got to his feet, locking his knees to keep from falling. He gripped the sink with one hand as he rinsed his mouth, then he splashed cold water on his face, trying to wash away the lingering memory of the dreams. But he couldn't wash the horror down the drain.

Grabbing a towel, John wiped his face, dragging the towel over his damp neck, then over his bare arms. But even though he wiped away the cold sweat, John still felt cold inside. Shuddering, he made his way back to his bed, but he didn't lie down. Instead he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, and then he moved to where Ford lay, curtained off in the corner. Grabbing a chair, John brought it over to the bed and sat down. The lights were low and the area was heavily shadowed, but John could see Ford's face well enough. He could see the lines of anxiety and fear that were etched into Ford's face, aging him as if overnight.

"You're going to be alright, buddy," John whispered, softly, knowing that Ford couldn't hear him; yet a part of John hoped that the message would sink in anyway. Somehow he was going to make everything all right, for everyone on his team.

"Major?"

The soft voice behind him made John jump. He turned, without thinking, hissing as his ribs pulled, pain twinging through him.

The nurse who had called him was by his side in an instant. "Are you all right?" She kept her voice pitched low, but not quite whispering.

"Yeah...I'm fine." John managed a shaky smile, hoping to reassure her.

"You should be in bed," the nurse scolded.

John winced then made a sheepish face. "I know. I just…I wanted to check on Ford. I'll go back to bed in a minute."

The nurse studied him a moment then nodded. "Alright. Can I get you anything? Are you in pain?"

"No...I'm fine." John told the lie easily. There was no pill or shot for the pain he was feeling. The bitter pain of fear and frustration and failure.

"Something to help you sleep?" she offered.

John hesitated, half wanting the oblivion. But then he shook his head. "I'm good...really."

She patted his shoulder. "All right then. Call me if you need me." With that she turned and glided away.

Tugging the blanket more firmly over his shoulders, John settled himself as comfortably as he could. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep now, so he would keep vigil over Ford instead. Maybe it would help in some way to keep the monsters that haunted them all at bay.

But John didn't get a chance to test his theory. Less than an hour later, Dr. Beckett came bustling in, looking like he had rolled out of bed and pulled on his old uniform. He looked mussed and wrinkled and his eyes were heavy-lidded as he moved to crouch by John's chair.

"How are you feeling, Major?" Carson queried.

"The nurse called you, didn't she?" John countered. "Sorry. She shouldn't have bothered you. I'm fine."

Carson heaved a quiet sigh. "You don't look fine. You look worn out and you're trembling a bit." This said as he gripped John's wrist to take his pulse.

John didn't feel up to arguing with Beckett, so he tried to distract him with a change of subject. "Is Dr. Heightmeyer still planning on doing a session with Ford tomorrow?"

"You mean later today, don't you?" Carson countered. He released John's wrist and stood up, his palm pressing against John's forehead, feeling for warmth.

"Right...later today," John amended, leaning away from Beckett's touch. He hated being fussed over, even when it was necessary. He didn't think it was necessary now. He wasn't sick, none of them were. But his team was wounded in a way that Beckett's type of medicine couldn't heal or cure.

Carson crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes searching John's face for a moment, peering hard against the shadowy darkness. "Whether Kate does a session or not is dependant on Ford. She plans on it if he's feeling up to it."

John nodded. "Good. I hope she doesn't forget I want to be there."

"She won't forget." As he spoke, Carson reached out and snagged John by the arm. "Come and get back into bed, Major. You need to rest. I'm going to give you something to help you sleep."

"No!" John's response was automatic. He rose from the chair at Beckett's pull, but stepped back and faced the other man with determination. "I'm going to go back to my room to sleep," John said firmly. Before Beckett could offer some protest, he continued, "I'll be more comfortable there so I'll rest better."

Carson didn't look happy about it, but he nodded his consent. "Perhaps you will sleep better at that. I can give you something to ease your way," he offered.

John was tempted, but he knew that the memories were wired so deeply into him and were so vibrant at the moment that he wouldn't find peace even in a drugged sleep. "I don't need it," he said softly. "But I have a favor to ask."

"Ask away." Carson looked curious.

"Can you have a nurse sit with Ford?" John glanced at his 2IC as he spoke. "I don't want him to wake up alone."

Carson smiled, but there was a sadness to it. "Aye...I can do that. Now go rest, Major. Doctor's orders."

John didn't argue with him. Still clutching the blanket around his shoulders, he left the infirmary. But he didn't head straight for his room. He walked the dim and silent corridors of Atlantis, making his way to the nearest balcony. The night air was cool, yet it felt almost heated against his clammy flesh. For a time, John just stood there, inhaling the scent off the water, exhaling slowly, as if he could rid himself of the darkness within. When he finally felt the tension inside him uncoiling bit, easing the tightness that made it feel as if he were suffocating, John finally left the balcony and made his way to his room.

Once inside he headed for the shower, standing under the hot spray of water until his skin felt warm again. Nothing could seep inside far enough to warm the cold that lay twisted and rock-solid in his gut. But at least he felt the illusion of warmth as he dressed in sweats and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Slipping under the covers of his bed, John curled up on his side, staring at the far wall. He didn't want to fall asleep but, surprisingly, he found himself drifting away into a shadowy darkness that deepened to black velvet. A deep sleep where, finally, he didn't dream.

It was a soft voice and a gentle touch that woke him. Or, more accurately, startled him out of slumber. John felt his body jerk awake, eyes wide, breath catching in his throat, one hand reaching for the gun that wasn't there, until he realized it was Elizabeth who was standing next to his bed. Her voice had called his name. Her hand had touched his arm. "What...what's wrong?" John asked, feeling a heavy lethargy that was hard to shake. He rubbed at his eyes then blinked hard, not letting his heavy eyelids slide closed the way they wanted to.

"Nothing's wrong." Elizabeth kept her voice soft and low. "I came to check on you and I brought lunch. A rather late lunch, actually."

"Lunch?" John peered at his watch then tapped it. The time had to be wrong. "How long did I sleep?"

Elizabeth glanced at her own watch. "Almost eleven hours."

John rubbed at the ache that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his temples. "Eleven hours," he echoed. "I can't believe I slept that long."

"You needed it." Elizabeth moved to the table in the corner. "I hope you're hungry. I brought lots."

"I guess I should be hungry," John allowed, as he slid out of bed. "Give me a minute to change and I'll be right with you." At Elizabeth's nod he grabbed jeans and a tee shirt and headed for the bathroom. After taking care of business, John splashed cold water on his face. He still felt groggy and his limbs felt heavy with exhaustion, in spite of all the sleeping he had done. Another splash of cold water then he wiped his face and got changed.

Elizabeth was waiting for him when he padded over to the table. "How do you feel?"

John considered how to answer her and settled for an acceptable lie. "Better. How's Ford doing?"

"Better as well." Elizabeth looked relieved. "He woke up a while ago and apologized to pretty much everyone for what happened. I told him we understood and about talking to Heightmeyer and he's agreed to a session this afternoon." Another glance at her watch. "In about an hour, in fact."

"I'll be there," John said, grimly.

Elizabeth nodded. "I know. But until then, sit and eat."

John sat after she did then asked, "Has anyone checked on Teyla and Rodney?"

"I have." Elizabeth pushed a glass of juice in John's direction. "They're keeping busy. They're quiet but they seem okay."

"Good." John offered a smile, knowing it didn't reach his eyes. He knew that Teyla and Rodney were far from okay.

Elizabeth pointed to his plate of food. Soup and what passed for a grilled cheese sandwich. "You need to eat, John," she admonished him.

Food was the last thing on John's mind, but he took a sip of the soup, just to appease her. Surprisingly, his stomach accepted it. He took another bite and that's when Elizabeth dropped the bomb on him.

"So how are you doing, John? Really."

"I'm fine." The reply was so automatic that John winced. But he managed to hold Elizabeth's intense gaze and state firmly, "Really. I'm just tired."

Elizabeth nodded and took a few sips of her own soup. Then she blurted out, "Atlantis needs you. All of you."

John knew what she was saying. "They'll get past this, Elizabeth. Just give them a little time. They're strong...stronger than they know."

"What happened with Ford..." she broke off and sighed, dropping her spoon and leaning back in her chair to fold her arms across her chest. "That scared the hell out of me, John."

"Yeah...freaked me out pretty good too," he confessed, and he took note of her startled reaction. "He was just overwhelmed," John explained, because he wanted her to be able to understand. At least a little. As much as she could without having experienced it. John knew that what had happened wasn't something she was prepared to deal with. Hell, he wasn't prepared for it either. But he would get them through it. Somehow...some way.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply when her earpiece beeped. "Weir here," she responded.

A disembodied voice replied, "We need you in the Gateroom, Dr. Weir. Technical problems."

"Did you contact Zelenka?" Elizabeth countered.

"Yes, ma'am. He's on his way."

Elizabeth sighed and replied, "So am I." She tapped off as she rose to her feet and looked at John. "We'll talk later?"

He nodded. "Sure." John was pretty sure they both knew it probably wouldn't happen. At the moment there wasn't much for them to talk about. Bates was doing John's job, Zelenka had pretty much taken over for Rodney. John knew wasn't going to change until he and his team dealt with what had happened. But it was slow going. "Go," John told her. She was needed.

"Going." Elizabeth smiled sharply then headed out the door.

John watched her go, then he shoved away the bowl of soup. He wasn't hungry. Even the taste of it in his mouth made his stomach clench so he went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. Glancing at his watch, John realized he had more than half an hour before Ford's session began, but he headed out the door and made a beeline for Kate's office anyway. He wanted to talk to her about Ford. John wanted to make certain that his presence wouldn't make things worse for the lieutenant.

To John's surprise, Heightmeyer already had a full office. Both Rodney and Teyla were there. Teyla greeted John with a smile from where she stood by the window. Rodney was pacing and he offered a little wave. John looked at them a moment, then at Kate, who was smiling at him.

"They wanted to be here to show their support for Ford," she said softly. "Just like you do, Major."

"And this is a good idea, right?" John countered, as he moved to stand beside her desk. He rested his hip against it and folded his arms over his chest. John felt a ripple of uncertainty and there was a sudden tightness clutching at him, making him over conscious of every breath he took. "Ford's issues with me are very real and I don't want to make things worse for him. I'll back off if you think he's not ready to deal with me." And he would do just that, although he really didn't want to. John wanted to be there to support Ford and help him through this.

Kate was quiet for a moment, obviously considering John's words. "I think that it's a positive thing having all of you here," she said finally. "If Ford is uncomfortable with your presence, Major, we'll know and we can deal with it accordingly."

John thought that sounded logical enough, although he was having a hard time focusing his thoughts. The ache in his temples had become a stabbing throb and he felt exceedingly restless and jumpy. That anxious feeling like there were bugs crawling under his skin. The room felt suddenly small and hot and suffocating and John had to force a smile at Heightmeyer before pushing away from the desk to join Teyla at the window. He ignored the way she looked at him, her eyes full of concern. He just needed a minute to pull himself together because it felt, all of the sudden, like he was starting to unravel. John knew he couldn't afford to come apart at the seams. So he took a few, deep, breaths and focused on evening out his breathing.

"Hey everyone."

It was Ford, calling out from the doorway, surprising them all with his presence.

They turned to look at him as one.

"Guess everyone decided to come early," Ford stated, looking uncomfortable at the attention.

"We can leave if you're uncomfortable," Teyla interjected, as she moved to greet him.

Ford shook his head. "No...I'd like all of you to stay." He turned to face John. "Especially you, sir. If you don't mind."

Relief washed over John, alleviating his anxiety for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Ford couldn't meet John's eyes and he shuffled his feet as he stated, "I'm sorry about what happened. About what I said."

"You don't have to apologize to me," John was quick to reply. He moved to Ford, waiting until the younger man lifted his head to meet his gaze. "I understand what you feel and why." John nodded at Ford then turned to Rodney and Teyla, needing to know if they felt the same way. "Do you blame me for what happened?" He asked, outright.

Rodney looked stunned. "Why would we?" he snapped. "It wasn't real!"

An unbidden image of Rodney, strapped down and bleeding from the mouth, appeared in John's head. He had to swallow hard against the acrid taste of bile before he could reply. "But it felt real at the time, Rodney." Turning to Teyla, John beseeched her, "Be honest. Do you blame me? Even a little?"

"Perhaps...a little," Teyla allowed, reluctantly. "It is foolish of me to blame you. I know that it was not real and that it was not your fault."

"It's okay." John felt a spike of anxiety, felt it shudder through him, and did his best to hide it at he turned to McKay. "What about you, Rodney? You can admit it."

Rodney looked angry, his blue eyes narrowed at he glared at John. "Fine! A part of me - the irrational part - blames you! Happy now?"

John didn't reply. Instead he turned to Kate and asked, "How do we get past this?" Because John knew that this was the sticking point for his teammates. That they needed to deal with this roadblock to move past what had happened. He knew that they understood he wasn't to blame, although he knew they would be surprised to learn that he blamed himself.

Kate was watching them all from a distance, and then she got up and moved to join them. She focused on John. "You saw what happened to them. Tell them what you saw, Major. Tell them what you felt...what it was like for you to watch them being tortured."

Fear rippled through John and he felt his mouth go dry. He didn't want to relieve those moments and he was pretty sure the others wouldn't be happy to relieve it either, but he decided to put his trust in Kate. If this was what it took to help his friends, then he would do it. "Okay. I can do that," John stated.

He turned to Ford and began. "I watched that freak in the robe holding the butcher knife as he stood beside you. I saw how terrified you were. I asked the woman what she wanted and all she said to me was...Where is Earth?. I wouldn't tell her. I couldn't." John felt his stomach clench at the memory, felt nausea coil in his stomach and bile pool in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes against the memory of the butcher knife flashing silver as it chopped off Ford's hand. "There was so much blood and you were screaming in agony..." John broke off, forcing his eyes open as he sensed movement beside him. Ford had turned ashen and Kate had pushed him down into a nearby chair. John looked at her. "I should stop." It was more a question than a statement.

"Keep going," Kate urged him.

"Teyla..." John turned to her next. "You were very brave. I knew what was coming. Something horrible. That woman...she asked me about Earth again but I couldn't tell her. And that...that bastard started cutting you..." John broke off, his vision graying out all of the sudden and he grabbed the back of a nearby chair to steady himself. "I couldn't stop them...I couldn't..." John felt a cold sweat break out on his skin, making him tremble as a sudden and staticy sound filled his head, like white noise. He felt himself detaching from his surroundings and he felt as if he were floating away. He needed to be grounded so he moved, seeking a solid connection, images flashing in his head now as he continued talking. "They cut your tongue out and there was so much blood." John continued backing up, rubbing his hands together. So much blood that he could feel it on his skin...he could taste it in his mouth. Blood in Rodney's mouth, trickling over his chin...

John shook his head, wanting to shake away the images. The movement sent spikes of pain stabbing into his temples, making starbursts flash behind his closed eyes. He stumbled back and hit a wall, or something. He latched onto it, sinking down into a crouch, feeling his way into the corner. Into his corner in his little box. He tucked himself into the corner, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around them, body rocking against the waves of pain and fear and anger that washed over him, drowning him.

"...sorry...sorry..." he whispered, over and over again, wishing that his teammates could hear him. Wishing that they weren't dead. "Should have been me...sorry...sorry.." Pain stabbed in his eyes and John bit his lip, tasting blood. More blood. Everything covered in blood. He covered his eyes, feeling warm slickness against his palms. Everything dark now...he couldn't see. Couldn't see. "...dark...so dark. They should have killed me too...I wanted them to kill me too..."

John was caught up in the memories. He wasn't aware of his friends staring at him in horrified disbelief. He felt the woman touch him and he scrabbled away from her whispering, "No...no...no!" He didn't know it was Teyla. He didn't see her step away, fighting back tears.

"...should have been me..." John whispered, as the pain in his head tightened around his skull like a vise. He didn't feel the tremors that turned into convulsive shudders. But he welcomed the sudden darkness as his body stiffened then went limp against the floor.

He didn't hear Kate's panicked call to Beckett.