"You should've killed me when you had the chance, Sir," drawled the warped psuedo-Ford.
"Don't," pleaded Sheppard, his voice cracking. The nine mil had the young man dead pegged center in the chest. "I'll shoot."
Ford's mouth curled in a gesture that was two-thirds sneer, and one-third regret. "If that were true, I would've already been dead."
Sheppard's trigger finger tightened convulsively, and he shouted –
"No!" He bolted upwards in bed, his right hand pulling the trigger that wasn't there, even while his mind screamed against the action.
"Easy, Colonel," whispered a groggy voice from a chair that always sat at the other end of his room, except it wasn't at the other end of his room anymore. It was now pulled up alongside him.
Sheppard became aware of a couple of things simultaneously. One, the sedative must not have worked. He could see the IV line running into the top of his hand, and feel the slight sting from his sudden movement. And two, he wasn't alone. Beckett was closing a book, and trying to shake off the effects of drowsing.
"You're still here?" mumbled Sheppard, surprised.
Beckett set the novel on Sheppard's nightstand, and after rubbing sleepy hands down his pants, stood up to check the line, making sure John hadn't pulled it out of the vein. The doctor must have dozed while reading –
"I couldn't just up and leave you knocked to the nethers, now could I?"
Sheppard relaxed his body, and slumped against the pillows. "Suppose not," he agreed. "How long?"
Carson looked regretfully at the clock. "About an hour and a half this time, maybe two hours, at the most." He was standing over Sheppard, hands tucked into his white lab coat. "Not enough."
"You're telling me," joked Sheppard, not realizing until he caught the slightly stricken response on Carson's face, that he'd spoken out loud. "It's not your fault, Doc, you're doing everything you can." Last thing Sheppard wanted was to be a source of guilt and stress for anyone.
"I need to do more." Beckett voiced his frustration.
Sheppard didn't know what to say. Beckett was the doctor, and because of that, he'd blame himself regardless of what John said.
A knock at the door gave Sheppard the proverbial 'saved by the bell' excuse. "Come in,"
Kate walked in, holding her hands clasped loosely in front of her. "Colonel," she greeted warmly. "I was told we needed to have a talk."
Sheppard knew his mouth twisted in distaste. This wasn't the avenue he wanted to go down. "I guess so," he said reluctantly.
Carson was standing awkwardly, not knowing whether he should stay or go. He did need to keep an eye on the colonel's health, and his reactions to sedatives had been problematic. "Ah, Colonel, how do you feel?"
Sheppard wanted to say he felt awful. He'd even go for throwing up about now, and he could've sworn just a little while ago that he never wanted to do that particular bodily function again, but the alternative was having his thoughts poked and prodded by Heightmeyer. He sort of rolled his eyes half-way to Beckett's face, and then Kate, and had the grace to change the lie before it had left his tongue. "Not going to buy it, are you?" he said instead.
"No," commiserated Beckett. "But if you want, we can try again?"
John shook his head, smiling slightly. "Thanks, but no thanks."
"Am I that unwelcome," teased Heightmeyer. "That you'd rather be sick to your stomach?"
So, she'd heard of his adventures in detail? "Look, Doctor Heightmeyer, it's nothing personal -"
She stopped him from going further. "I know, Colonel. It isn't something I haven't heard before, by a hundred different people. Nobody wants to see a psychologist – well, some do, but those are the ones that often times need us the least."
Sheppard's interest was piqued. "How so? You'd think that the uh – mentally ill – uh, would need you," he gestured towards Kate, with the distinct feeling that he was making a royal mess of things, "well, you know, more than say – someone like me."
She unclasped her hands, and found a position against the wall, folding her arms in a more comfortable position. The easy smile came again. "You'd think so," she said. "However, they are the ones ready to admit they need help. Someone like you, on the other hand -"
"Isn't," he supplied succinctly.
"Exactly."
Carson cleared his throat with exaggerated care. "I'll just," he thumbed at the door, "be going now. When you're done, let me know."
Sheppard waved blithely at Beckett, who lost some of his uncomfortableness with the rightness of Sheppard's little move, and smirked, before walking out the door.
"Have a seat," offered Sheppard, gesturing at the chair.
She nodded, and sat. And waited.
The silence stretched out between them, pulling at Sheppard's nerves. "So, you're here to tell me that I'm losing it, and, let me guess, I'm actually causing the insomnia as a way to – hmmm, to stop the world, or at least my role in it, right?"
"Do you believe that is the cause?"
"No, no, no – you're not pulling that one on me, Doc," said Sheppard, pointing his finger at her before pulling his hand back to his bed. "You're the doc, Doc – you tell me."
She debated him for a few minutes, before acquiescing. "Okay, then, I think," she proceeded carefully, "that you feel responsible, intensely more so than you should, for the loss of life that has occurred since we arrived last year."
His snort caused her to pause. He smirked, but waved for her to continue.
"As I was saying, you feel more than humanly possible, that you could have prevented these deaths -"
"I know I couldn't have prevented all of them," he started to say before stopping. He frowned, and seemed to think to himself for a few moments. When he looked back to her, his eyes were bleak. "Actually, that isn't true. I could've prevented it. All of it."
Kate's face grew grim. "The locket."
John confirmed, his voice flat, "The locket."
"And you have the gift of foresight?" she asked sharply.
"Of course not," he rejoined, just as sharply. "But the fact remains, it was my touch that activated the signal that called the wraith to Athos that night."
"And set off a chain of events that you can trace all deaths back to you," she concluded. "The grim reaper meets Kevin Bacon game."
He laughed mirthlessly.
"But it's not so funny, is it?"
He sobered. "No, it's not."
She leaned in towards him, and Sheppard felt the air move, and settle, catching a scent of her perfume. He closed his eyes against the emotions welling up within him. It wasn't funny. He was Midas, and everything he touched died, but instead of turning to Gold, they withered and turned to dust.
She didn't talk, but allowed him to remove himself into his thoughts. He walked through the memories. Of meeting Teyla, and hiking to the cave, and that damn chance of fate that caused him to notice the light reflecting off the surface of an innocent looking necklace. A Trojan Horse that tricked them all.
Sumner locking eyes, and pleading with him to end it. Abrams body, aged beyond life, and Gall, barely holding on – but he didn't. He'd shot himself to save them, because the wraith had a streak of cruelty, and left him with just enough life to make his passing a painful experience for not only Gall, but for Sheppard and McKay. Rodney hadn't talked about it for weeks.
The soldiers gunned down by the Genii, potential allies turned foe, again, a threat he'd brought down on the expedition. Everett, Grodin, many nameless soldiers that had fallen in the Siege of Atlantis – and Ford. Fucking Ford. His kid, his teammate, his responsibility, and nothing he could do would change what happened. He knew, in his gut, that Ford would never be the same. There was no magic cure for what had happened, and Beckett had been grasping at straws when he said he might be able to wean Ford.
He found as his thoughts drifted, his mind shifted, and REM sleep overcame his already fatigued body.
"He tried to kill me!" shouted McKay. "You have to kill him."
"No," protested Sheppard. "We can catch him, bring him back -"
McKay thrust the gun into Sheppard's fingers. "You have to kill him, before he kills everyone else."
"I won't kill him!" shouted Sheppard, furious. The sudden echoes caused Sheppard to open his eyes. His gaze swept the room, and locked on to Beckett's. "Kate?"
Carson shook his head briefly. "Gone. You fell asleep, and she figured you needed it more than your session, now I'm not so sure she made the right call." Beckett was being blunt.
John was falling down a long hill, and gaining speed. He was starting to drop in and out, only remaining asleep until the dreams grew bad enough to jolt him awake. Which was all the time. "Doc," started Sheppard, "I don't know how long -" his voice cracked. He couldn't say it. Couldn't say 'how long I can hold on' because he could feel the thin veneer of control starting to break, shatter, fall into non-existence.
"I know," said Beckett.
The sharp crack of Sheppard's non-humorous laugh brought him up short. "How can you? I'm starting to lose track of when I'm awake, and when I'm asleep. It's all starting to blur. Right now, what if this isn't real? What if I look away, and Ford shows up, splattering your brains against the wall – oh wait, he wouldn't do that – he'd suck you into your hundreds first."
Beckett stooped low, sitting on the end of Sheppard's bed. "Son, we'll solve this thing, I promise."
John could only close his eyes. He never saw Beckett reaching over for the IV line, and injected another sedative. Didn't hear the doctor's explanation that another hour of sleep might not be enough, but his body needed it anyway. He was already falling into another round of REM, and nightmares.