Ford jumped into a culling beam –
Sumner locked eyes, pleading for the bullet –
Everett, aged and feeble –
"Son of a -" John bolted awake, swearing, and sweating.
Footsteps came running as his yelling split the quiet infirmary. His curtain was yanked open, revealing a nurse that looked as jolted as he felt.
"Colonel?" she asked.
He took a steadying breath, lying back, and tried to slow the pounding of his heart. "Sorry," he mumbled self-consciously. "Bad dream."
"I see," she said.
Sheppard figured she did. "What time is it?" groggily, he looked towards her wrist. He'd left his in his room.
Sympathetically, she answered what he was really looking to know, "You've only been asleep for less than an hour – about forty minutes."
Less than an hour? What the fuck? "I thought this was supposed to work?" The only reason he'd given in to being here was because he had thought a sedative would work. It was supposed to get him asleep, and keep him asleep.
The nurse bristled. "Colonel, everyone has different reactions to medication, and there is no certainty when it comes – Colonel, what are you doing?"
Sheppard was doing what he should've earlier – leaving. This was a stupid idea. Looking for help in the form of pills and shots; what good was that going to do when the real issue was his guilt. Guilt at failing those that depended on him. Sumner, Everett, Gall, Abrams – fuck! – Ford.
She reached for his hand as he began to pull off the tape securing the IV line. "Stop, Colonel -" frantically, she realized that Sheppard wasn't listening. "DOCTOR BECKETT!" she shouted, while trying to keep a hand over the needle. "Colonel, calm down!"
He heard more people scurrying their way, and swore again, Christ, he just wanted to go back to his room, find some privacy, and try to fall asleep without an audience. He stopped trying to get the needle out, and met the concerned gaze from Beckett.
"This was voluntary," he said coldly. "I want to leave."
"Aye," Beckett replied. "It was."
Was? Sheppard peered around Beckett, and said pointedly, "I'm sure you and your people have more things to do than babysit."
"Sure we do," he agreed amicably. Beckett waved his people off to cover the few patients that were sharing the infirmary with Sheppard. Once they left, Carson drew the curtain back in place, and pulled up a chair. He reached for John's arm, and pulled a roll of adhesive tape from the pocket in his coat. While he pulled off the mussed tape, and reattached new, he talked. "Colonel, this is more of a problem than either of us believed," he admitted. "That sedative should've kept you under for at least six hours."
"Why didn't it?" Sheppard wanted to know, he really did, because this not sleeping crap was beginning to wear him down, and he knew it.
"That's a good question." Finishing the last bit of tape, he stood up, and adjusted the drip, straightening Sheppard's blanket and arm. "But more importantly is the question, 'what do we do now'?"
"I go back to my room, and try again," answered Sheppard reasonably.
The tight-lipped smile from Beckett did little to reassure John. "No," Carson crossed his arms. "We will use a heavier duty sedative."
"We don't want a heavier duty sedative," grunted John.
"We don't have a choice," retorted Beckett. "As your doctor, this is my call."
"God damn it, Beckett! That's not fair, and you know it. I came here in good faith, not to be drugged to the gills." Sheppard didn't want a higher dosage. Sedatives left you groggy, queasy – not rested and ready for a new day. How could he do his job if he felt drugged and lethargic?
Carson did understand John's frustration. He was tired, irritable, and suffering from sleep deprivation. Sedatives, the higher you went, became less restful for the body, and a last resort, but – if it could break this cycle that John's body had slipped into, it might prove worthwhile.
"Colonel, I realize this is more than you bargained for, but this isn't to be taken lightly. Physically, lack of sleep can cause hallucinations, mania, weight-loss, slowed motor skills -"
"I'm not hallucinating," John said flatly. "And I'm not experience any mania, at least that I know of."
"No, but you are experiencing an inability to stay alert. Teyla said you had fallen asleep in the exercise room, Elizabeth told me about your blanking out in the briefing – I should've grounded you then, but I didn't realize it was anything more than boredom."
"And he's definitely irritable," said McKay.
Sheppard looked up from his blanket covered feet, and his face contorted into a disgusted frown, "Get out," he snapped. This was ridiculous. It was bad enough being in this situation; he didn't need the entire city knowing about his problem.
"No," said Rodney succinctly.
John raised an eyebrow, and glared dangerously at McKay. "No?"
"No," repeated McKay.
"Rodney," began Carson, thinking maybe his presence might be better off somewhere else.
The angry force that is Rodney McKay rounded on the doctor. "No, I'm not leaving. Sheppard is the leader of my team, and therefore, I'm directly affected by what's going on here, and furthermore, as head of the science division, I work closely with the military side in the exploration of Atlantis. I have every right to be in the loop, as does Elizabeth; where is she, anyway? Does she even know what's going on here?"
Beckett jerked his head, and his eye twitched. "Yes, Rodney. Colonel Sheppard informed her before coming back to the infirmary earlier."
Except Colonel Sheppard hadn't informed her. "Uh, about that -"
Carson closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He counted to ten, and opened his eyes. "You didn't tell her, did you?"
"I got sidetracked, okay?" responded John defensively. "Remember, sleep deprived? You shouldn't be leaving these things up to me."
"She'll find out in the morning, then," said Beckett, knowing that Weir wouldn't be happy finding out via report, but the only alternative was to wake her now. "It's in my end of the day report."
"Look," tried Sheppard again, "This is a mistake. Really. I'm sure as tired as I am that I can sleep now." He threw the blanket off his legs, and swung into a sitting position. "In fact, this was all a misunderstanding -"
It was about then, that Sheppard's world began to get a little confused – blurry even. "What -" he slurred, and turned dopey eyes towards Beckett.
Carson sighed, and opened his palm showing a hypodermic – an empty hypodermic. "McKay, get his legs," ordered Beckett, reaching forward for John's shoulders. "Sorry, Son, we'll see you when you wake up."
Sheppard had every intention of arguing, protesting the doctor's treatment, but his eyes had already closed, and he was falling into a drugged, dreamless, slumber.
OoO
Elizabeth stormed into the infirmary at 0700 hours. "Carson!" she snapped, looking around. She didn't see the doctor, but she did see a curtained off bed, and with a sneaking suspicion, headed that way.
Pulling it back, she was rewarded by the sight of Sheppard, stretched out and unaware. Next to him, McKay lay propped in a chair, his feet hitched on one of the bed rails. So, McKay knew as well? Seems she was the only one who didn't know –
Her scowl tightened, and she stepped out, turning towards Beckett's office, when she walked into the man she was seeking.
His warm hands caught her arms, and steadied her. "You read the report?" he said warily.
"I did," she replied, forcing the anger out of her tone. "What I find curious is how everyone else seemed to know about Colonel Sheppard's treatment."
"The only reason Rodney knew was because he followed Sheppard to the infirmary last night," placated Beckett. "He came back later, when I had to use a larger sedative to keep Sheppard under."
"Teyla informed me this morning that Sheppard spent the night in the infirmary, and asked me if I knew how he was doing."
"Oh," said Beckett, "now that makes things a bit of a munch, doesn't it?"
"For you," she replied evenly. "Carson, I need to know these things before I read it in the reports the day after the fact."
In self-preservation, he considered admitting that Sheppard had said he'd tell Weir, but then again, Sheppard wasn't in great shape, and if he got down to it, it was Carson's responsibility. Sheppard was his patient, and he'd known the man wasn't firing on all cylinders right now.
"You're right," he said. "I'm sorry."
She appeared mollified, and the irritation mutated to concern as she asked, "How is he?"
The sound of retching, and Rodney hollering, "Help!" drew both of them running to Sheppard's bedside.
The object of their worry was leaning over the bedrail, heaving, vomiting all over the floor. McKay was hunched in his chair, feet pulled up into the seat, to avoid the splatter. "Help him," he ordered. "Basin, enema, whatever it takes!"
Carson rolled his eyes, as he gestured for a nurse to come over. He found a basin in a cabinet, and carefully avoiding the mess on the floor the best he could, eased the miserable Sheppard back on the bed, lifting it into a titled position of about 45 degrees. "Easy lad, you're having an unpleasant reaction to the sedative."
"Unpleasant?" spluttered McKay. "Carson, he just emptied two gallons of stomach contents on the floor!"
"McKay," called Sheppard weakly. "You're not helping."
"No, he isn't," agreed Beckett.
The nurse arrived with another hypodermic, and pushed a bucket of water and a mop. Seeing the needle, John paled further, which was saying a lot.
"Not another one," he objected.
"It's an anti-emetic," soothed Beckett. "It'll help with the nausea."
Carson injected the medicine, and reached for another bag of saline solution. He hung the bag, and pulled the nurse aside. "Nothing by mouth for two hours, start with ice, if tolerated, move to water. Continue the saline until he can eat and drink normally again."
As he was giving the nurse instructions, Elizabeth found a washcloth, and after wetting it, handed it to John so he could wipe his mouth. He took it gratefully, and wished everyone would just leave him alone. After cleaning his face, he leaned back as far as he could, and closed his eyes, hoping the message would get through.
A soft touch on his shoulder. "Get some rest, John," whispered Elizabeth, and cracking his eyes open, he saw her walk away, gesturing for Beckett to follow her. One down, one to go, he thought, noticing McKay stubbornly residing in the chair.
Rodney's lips twisted in a satisfied grin. "You wish," he said.
"Why can't you leave me alone?" asked John tiredly.
"Because you wouldn't."
Sheppard's mind was sluggish, so it took a moment for him to get what McKay was trying to say. And when he did, John had to admit Rodney was right. If the shoe was on the other foot, he'd be parked right there – okay, maybe not right there – probably across the room. Out of vomiting distance.
For a physicist, McKay was pretty stupid. Loyal, but stupid. Either that, or his sense of smell wasn't that great.
"Fine, you win, just -" John searched for the right words – "don't stare, and don't hover, and don't get in my way."
Rodney snorted. "Major – Sheppard, Colonel – god, why did they have to promote you – I assure you, as the only way to 'get in your way' would be to crawl in bed with you, I shall remain firmly 'out of your way', and as for staring and hovering, don't flatter yourself, I have work to do. I'm only sticking around to make sure Carson doesn't break you."
If Sheppard had felt better, he would've enjoyed needling McKay about Beckett. But as it were, he felt groggy, still slightly queasy, and overall pretty damn shitty. He let his eyes shut again, but found despite the medicine and after-effects of the sedative, that sleep was still elusive –