Insomnia part nine
"Carson, I need my second in command. I need John on his feet."
Sheppard heard the words, and knew the voice. Elizabeth. She was nearby, and apparently talking to Beckett about him. Fanfuckingtastic. Last thing he remembered, he'd been getting hot and sweaty with Ronon, and not that kind of hot and sweaty, thank you so much, and then things went wonky and bam, infirmary time again, Colonel 'screwed' Sheppard. They ought to just give him a permanent bed at the rate he was going.
"Elizabeth, we're doing all we can, but you know as well as I, the root of the trouble isn't medical. You can suture a wound shut but if you don't cure the infection within, you can no' heal the body."
Beckett's voice was tired. It was always tired lately. Sheppard didn't like the thought that he was continuing to add to the doc's condition.
John figured he really should let them know he was awake. He'd actually slept some, but a product of a crash from a drug he shouldn't have taken, and he felt about as bad as one would expect. Maybe it would be enough to get him through another day – or two.
He heard soft sounds of movement, and knew that they were moving towards him.
"I don't like this, Carson. John's always been strong, and to see him like this -" her voice broke and she didn't finish.
Sheppard felt a flash of guilt at not letting them know he was awake. Elizabeth sounded strained, and he chalked up another reason to hate what was happening. He was strong, he wanted to shout, but he didn't want to let them know he was listening.
"He's still strong, Lass. He's been through a lot. He'll get through this."
Good man, Carson Beckett, thought John wearily.
He didn't feel good, and listening to them discuss his depressing situation wasn't helping. Sheppard felt as if the sleep hadn't made a dent in his sleep deficit, and his touchy stomach was feeling tetchy.
A soft hand fell on his arm, and he knew it was Elizabeth. She softly moved her hand up and down, not much, but enough to soothe his mind. It was calming, and he sunk lower towards sleep again, just wanting to escape his situation, even if it would be temporary.
oOo
I'm sorry, Sir. It wasn't supposed to end this way.
Ford was watching Sheppard sadly, but then his face warped, and changed, hair growing white and rapidly lengthening. He was Ford-Wraith, and the sadness evolved into a cruel smile.
Everyone must die, now, Sir. You should've killed me when you had the chance. Too bad your earlier compunction to do what was necessary wasn't around when you needed it most. Your bad decision will haunt you forever –
No!
"No!" John shouted.
He bolted upright, felt the tug of the IV line, felt the hand soothing his arm fall to the side in surprise. His heart was pounding, and he felt cold and clammy, and sick.
"John?"
Sheppard was staring forward, willing himself to remember that it was just another dream. Ford was still human, and he was still out there. It didn't have to end that way. He'd make sure it wouldn't.
He turned his head and saw Elizabeth sitting uneasily in a chair.
"I'm fine." He answered automatically.
Emotions transformed her face. A tight-lipped cringe, and a small shake of her head before she answered honestly, "No, you're not."
No, John wasn't, and events had spiraled so out of his control he didn't even attempt to deny it.
"Water?" he asked hoarsely.
She moved to get the pitcher, and poured a cup, before handing it to him. She didn't speak, but watched as Sheppard drank the entire glass and handed the cup back.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome," she said warmly. "John, we need to talk."
"I'll get through this," John replied, knowing where this was headed. "I'm not crazy, Elizabeth. It's just a temporary bump in the road."
"No one is saying you're crazy. But, I do think you are being unrealistic at this point. Kate said she wants to see you again."
Sheppard watched as her arms folded, and she stared at him in that determined way that let him know this was not going to be easily avoided. She didn't back down. Most of the time, it was a trait he admired in her, right now, not so much. He wasn't up for the fight, and she knew it.
"It didn't do much last time," he offered instead of a refusal.
"One time won't. This isn't a problem where you can be handed a pill and say 'call me in the morning'."
The irony of her words wasn't lost on either one, and she flushed. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out right. I'm not saying -"
"I think you've said enough," interrupted John coldly.
"John, I -"
"If you don't mind," he said, pointedly tugging the blanket up a little and settling in to the pillow purposefully, "I think I'll try to get a little more rest, seeing how that's the reason I'm here, after all."
Elizabeth looked like she wanted to say more, but she nodded abruptly, and stepped away, leaving Sheppard to stew over their conversation.
oOo
And stew John did. The infirmary was empty after Elizabeth left, a fact he was grateful for, but it left far too much silence in her wake. Nothing but Ford's imaginary apology echoing in his mind.
He'd told Beckett earlier he didn't know how long he could keep going, and lying here now, he felt the weight of the truth more than any other time in his life. He was beginning to doubt anyone would be able to help him. Could you die from lack of sleep? Do you become insane? Reduced to a gibbering mass of flesh because your mind can't fasten on reality any longer?
His mind was at war. Part of him insisted this was minor, that he'd overcome it just like everything else in his life, but the other half was panicking, and trying to escape like the little boy who never could be fast enough, or smart enough, for his dad.
The longer he lay there, his mind turning over every thought possible, the more anxious and restless he felt. He couldn't sleep, and what's worse, he couldn't bear to keep still any longer. He just had to get away, run somewhere and maybe find some peace. In the end, that's what he needed. Peace. Quiet the demons, Ronon had said, and that was a perfect description.
Making up his mind, John yanked the IV line out, and slid out of the bed. He left the infirmary, now saying thanks for the lack of personnel, probably at an afternoon briefing – shift change. They usually left someone around, and whoever it was, they were sure to get an earful from Beckett when he found out they'd left him unsupervised. That wasn't his problem, and for once, he didn't feel any guilt at all.
He sought the one place he hadn't tried yet. The one place that he'd gone to when it'd all started. The balcony overlooking the ocean. Granted, it wasn't the main balcony, where everyone could have access. He'd found a small isolated one, off the southern pier, and it was higher than the rest, and you could see forever. If you looked out, you'd never know you weren't doing anything other than bobbing in the middle of the wide ocean, and at night, you could lose yourself in the twinkling lights.
Sheppard had to move through the halls with stealth in mind. The area wasn't overly remote, just tucked away really neatly. The halls had been pretty empty, again, it was shift change, and most personnel were getting briefed by the outgoing shift. Worked for his benefit. He was just dodging through the doors that led into the room that accessed his balcony when he thought he saw someone coming down the hall towards him. He jumped just that little bit faster, and flattened himself against the wall, breathing hard as the door slid shut.
He waited and hoped that the person hadn't seen him, or didn't think anything of seeing Colonel Sheppard, decked out in infirmary scrubs and nothing else, and would continue on their merry way.
He counted to ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty and when he reached sixty John relaxed his tense muscles. He turned away from the door and headed to the balcony, breathing deeply in as the glass doorway opened to admit the salty air.
This is what he was talking about. Not pills, not shrinks, just a slice of mother nature and time to himself, without anyone waiting or watching, or wanting to cure him with some other cockamie treatment.
He walked over to the rail and dropped down to the ground, sliding his legs through the slats, and letting his head rest against the metal supports.
It was quiet out here. The only sound was the ocean water slapping playfully against the city down below, and sea birds squawking at one another. What he wouldn't give for life to be this simple. No worries, no decisions that cost lives every time you blinked, no regrets –
"I thought I'd find you here."
Sheppard didn't move. He'd found a measure of comfort against the rails, and the tiredness sat on him like a weighted vest.
"I wanted some time alone, to think. Clear my head."
Elizabeth moved beside him, and knelt down. She looked at his face, searching for answers to the questions she had. Maybe she found them, or maybe not, but she turned her eyes to the water as well.
"When I was a little girl, my Grandma used to take me to the beach. It was my favorite thing to do." She started talking. "I remember one summer I'd been playing with some crabs off the pier. They scared me, but at the same time, I was fascinated. The little pincers, and the hard bodies. They kept scurrying around under the water, oblivious to everything else around them."
"Elizabeth, I don't want to hear about crabs."
She smiled a little, and continued. "Funny thing was, a group of people came over and started setting up nets to catch the crabs. I asked Grandma what they were doing, and she told me they were catching them to eat. I tried to talk the people out of it, but one of the older men sat me down and said, 'Young lady, there are ways of life that just are. We eat the crabs, and the crabs eat the other little things in the water. There's always going to be something bigger out to eat you.'"
Sheppard would've rolled his eyes, except he was steadfastly refusing to look her way. "This is so cliché it could've came out of Mother Goose. Let me guess, you got him to give the crabs a last minute stay?" Sarcasm was practically dripping in the air.
Elizabeth watched the water, a bemused grin on her face, one that John didn't see. Nope. Because he wasn't looking at her. Not at all.
"Not really. I told him that it was the bigger people's responsibility to look out for the littler ones, and he shoved the crabs in the bucket, and gathered the others, and left. I don't think he liked me much."
"And the moral of the story is?"
Now the grin vanished like quicksilver on a rainy day. She faced him, still kneeling, and the reluctance she felt was vibrating in the air. "John, I'm the bigger person here."
The impact knocked his sails flat. She was going to look out for him, even if he didn't agree it was the right thing to do. She was taking the decisions out of his hands. His mouth went dry, and he tried to find a level of calmness somewhere, but it wasn't cooperating.
"Spell it out, Elizabeth," he responded with a growl, now fully looking at her, and his eyes were spitting chips of anger. "Don't pussyfoot around with stories of old men, and crabs and other crap to make you feel better."
"You're falling apart, John," she said softly. "I'm handing you over into Carson's custody. He'll be the primary caregiver, but you'll also be under Kate's care. If you're going to get better, you've got to accept this is a deeper problem then you are admitting."
The anger Sheppard had tried to control came erupting out. "You can't do that!" He pushed back from the rail, and got to his feet, glaring daggers. "So I'm having a hard time sleeping, it's not like I've had much time to try to figure it out on my own. I asked for help, Elizabeth, and look where it got me. Everyone shoving their own treatments down my throat, and all of them have made me sick, unconscious, or a combination of both, hell, one of them almost got me raped!" he thundered.
Elizabeth cringed, but didn't back down. She never backed down.
"I can, and I have."
John stared her down, time ticking away, and he knew his entire body radiated the anger he felt, but she never flinched and she didn't offer him an out.
"Son of a bitch," he swore, turning back towards the ocean, knowing he was cornered. "I don't want this on my record," he finally said, his voice strained and washed out. He wasn't going to beg. He never begged.
She took it as an olive branch, or at least a temporary truce, and he could tell she relaxed.
"It won't."
He believed her. God knows, she'd never lied before, but this was scary. His life was being handed over to others, and he wasn't going to have much say, and all he could think about was getting away before Beckett got him in his clutches again. And to think, this had all started out as a voluntary move on his part.
He'd been through the wringer, and even if his mind hadn't been breaking down, and it was, he could feel that, his body definitely was. He could feel that, also. It didn't matter that his weakened state was partially their fault. The sedatives that made him sick, the Athosian tea that made him more than a little sick. All those shots to keep him from throwing up, and the IV's trying to keep him hydrated because of all the throwing up.
But the dreams – the nightmares, and the guilt. It was eating him alive. Demons, Ronon had said. He had to quiet the demons, and he knew that sitting out here on this balcony wasn't going to be enough. Knew it as sure as he knew the sun would rise in the morning – with him awake to see it. Ronon.
The Satedan had been through a lot, seen enough to have quite a few of his own demons. He'd known what was wrong with Sheppard even before John had begun to accept it. Maybe he could help, maybe if he gave one more person a shot, he could avoid being locked up in the infirmary under medical care that might only make him worse.
Hearing sounds behind him, he turned, and felt his stomach fall. A pair of burly orderlies were standing at the door, waiting. He twisted back to Elizabeth and gave her a wry look. "Didn't think I'd go willingly?"
She returned his smile. "Let's just say you have a habit of doing what you want, regardless of what I say."
Sheppard sighed, and squared his shoulders, before heading towards the men. "Hi fellas, appreciate the escort. You know how dangerous these halls can be. Murders and muggings, and you just never know."
He walked out the door and towards the hall, and never looked back.
The End…of part nine