A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update. I'm still fighting this bug. You know it's bad when you'd rather go to bed than stay up and read fic! Ha!
Thanks to Titan5 for all of your encouraging words! And, just a note, despite what you say, I'm actually not entirely convinced that you don't have a private masseuse at your disposal there!
And to everyone else, thanks for all of the reviews! They keep my eyes open long enough to continue writing!
Emrys
Iron String – Part 4
This time when he regained consciousness, he did not even have the strength to roll over. Instead, he remained on his side, blinking hazily and feeling weighted down and uncomfortable.
"Hey there, laddie. It's about time. Give yer'self a minute. Ye're bound ta be a wee bit groggy now."
After a moment, John's eyes focused, and he was able to see Beckett crouched down in his line of vision. Dark circles etched the spaces beneath the doctor's eyes, and exhaustion was plain in every line of Beckett's face. Sheppard closed his own eyes in response to the evidence of worry and fatigue of which he knew he had been the cause. He made an attempt to vocalize his concern, but all he accomplished was to emit a hash, rasping sound.
"Don't talk yet, Colonel. Yer mouth is bound to be dry. Let's get ye a drink before attemptin' a conversation."
As he spoke, Beckett positioned John so that he was lying on his back and then moved the head of the infirmary bed up to a semi-reclining position. Sheppard closed his eyes against the dizzying movements and felt his stomach roil with the vertigo he was experiencing.
"Just take it easy, son. Ye've had a difficult go of it."
John felt Beckett's hand clasp his wrist to monitor his pulse manually, and the comfort of the familiar touch helped him to ground himself. After a while he was able to even out his breathing and feel relief that his stomach had reaffixed itself to its rightful place in his body cavity.
Beckett maintained his grasp on John's wrist until the sick man was able to reopen his eyes. He then waited for Sheppard's expression to clear before offering him an ice chip.
"Ye ready fer one of these then, son?" Carson asked kindly. Sheppard did not dare nod in assent because he feared that if he moved his head the dizziness would return. Instead, he offered Beckett a weak smile and opened his mouth to gratefully receive the blessed coolness of the frozen water.
After he felt the dryness in his mouth recede, John made a second attempt to voice his concerns.
"How…long?"
Apparently he managed to convey his question despite the fact that it was expressed with a voice that was barely above a whisper because Beckett's face clouded over in response. The doctor's brow furrowed, and the exhaustion that John had observed before became even more pronounced.
"It's been four days this time, son," Beckett said gently. John felt his heart beat harder at the news, and Carson placed a steadying hand on his patient's shoulder as the man fought for control.
Four days! Four days of his life gone. Over half a week had fled past him while he had been sleeping, and now that he was awake, he was keenly aware that he had no power over when he would disappear again. And John had no doubt that he would eventually disappear again because by the look on Beckett's face, there was no reason to believe that he had found the cure for whatever this was yet.
"What now?" he whispered when he managed to regain a modicum of control.
"Well, I've upped the dose of the anti-psychotic, and it seems that ye're respondin' to it, at least fer now. I'm not sure how long the medications are goin' to work fer ye though, because it seems as if yer response to them is diminishin'," Beckett stopped when John's face contorted with anxiety and strengthened his grasp on Sheppard's shoulder. "It's alright, laddie," Carson assured. "Rodney and I have an idea of what's goin' on now. Ye're still in a bad way, but with yer permission we want to try somethin'."
John's fear became manageable as Carson continued to soothe him, but Beckett's optimistic words were joined with an expression so somber that he knew that his condition remained dodgy at best.
"What aren't…you telling me?" John asked while eying the doctor warily.
"Colonel, yer seizures stopped shortly after ye lost consciousness this last time," Carson stated calmly.
"That's good, isn't it?" John asked, perplexed.
Carson heaved a heavy sigh.
"Actually, no. As it turns out, that's a very bad thing," he stated.
"I don't understand."
"Colonel, Rodney and I took a closer look at the EEG data that were collected when ye used the pods on the Aurora. What we discovered was that the pod initiated electrical excitation in both Rodney's and yer brains every time ye pulled yerselves out of the virtual environment. The effect was short-lived and weak, but it was basically the equivalent of a small seizure."
"I still don't understand," John stated, miserably. A wave of dizziness washed over him again, and he clasped the bed sheets desperately.
Beckett watched as the man visibly paled, and he moved forward to wipe off the sweat that had appeared on Sheppard's brow. Eventually John's distress diminished, but Beckett sustained the gentle stroking of his face and forehead. He waited until he thought Sheppard was asleep again and then put the cloth away and pulled up the chair that Rodney had brought into the infirmary a week ago. Feeling exhaustion overwhelm him, he closed his eyes and put his head in his hands. It had been a very rough four days for all of them, especially Rodney who continued to blame himself for Sheppard's condition.
Beckett lifted his head and turned around to look at Rodney who was lying on one of the other infirmary beds. To his relief, McKay had remained asleep throughout his conversation with the Colonel.
Four days ago, the physicist had flatly refused to leave the infirmary, and Carson had been forced to comply with the stubborn man's wishes. Rodney had basically set up shop in the infirmary and had left only on the rare occasion that Zelenka had been unable to carry out his directions. It had been a struggle getting the man to eat, and surprisingly, Rodney only responded to Ronan's demands that he consume at least the bare minimum of food. Beckett had been becoming worried that McKay's hypoglycemia would become an issue until Ronan had come into the infirmary with a tray laden with all of Rodney's favorites. The big man had marched purposefully into the room and roughly shoved the tray into the physicist's hands. After issuing a one word order to eat, Dex had then sat on another chair to watch over both Sheppard and McKay. It had then only been a matter of Ronan glaring furiously at Rodney to motivate the physicist into eating enough food to satisfy Beckett's concerns.
But throughout the four days, Rodney had maintained a careful watch over Sheppard that was painful to see. Even when he was working on some complicated problem, Rodney had sustained the steady stream of a one-sided conversation with the Colonel. The litany of quiet assurances and desperate words had been upsetting to Carson since Sheppard had appeared to hear none of them. The Colonel had been locked away within the prison of his own mind, and his condition was slowly tearing apart the man who felt responsible for it.
Rodney's guilt had begun to affect his ability to sleep, until Beckett had finally had enough and had administered a sleeping aid. Thankfully, the man was still sleeping, albeit restlessly.
"Still don't understand."
The drowsy voice drew Beckett's attention back to his patient, and he turned abruptly away from Rodney's direction.
"Ye should sleep a bit, son," he admonished gently.
"Explain first," Sheppard insisted.
"Alright then," Carson said reluctantly. "But then ye need yer sleep."
"Yessir," Sheppard muttered. He had the sudden feeling of being a child treated to a bedtime story. Only problem was, he wasn't entirely sure that this story would have a happy ending.
"We think that the electrical excitation that was stimulated in yer brain by the pod was a way of, well, for lack of a better word, resettin' yer brain fer reality again. Fer some reason, yer brain was not reset on several occasions of ye takin' yerself out of the pod. We think it has somethin' to do with ye bein' knocked unconscious because that's when the reset stopped happenin'. Of course we can't be entirely sure. It may just have been a malfunction of the pod."
"Doesn't matter, right?" Sheppard mumbled while struggling to keep his eyes open.
"No, I don't think so. What's important is that we know that the reset did not occur on several occasions. Both Rodney and I agree that the seizures ye've been experiencin' are yer brain's way of attemptin' its own reset. Unfortunately, they've been unsuccessful at reestablishing normal functioning. We're not sure, but we believe this has somethin' to do with the strength of the seizures and the frequency of them."
"Thought I just needed a…little zap," Sheppard replied.
"Well, ye're right, the pods only stimulated a small electrical response in yer brain. But given the increasin' length and frequency of yer catatonic episodes, I think that the more time between experiencin' the virtual environment and receivin' the restart, the harder it is to reestablish normal functionin'. Basically, yer brain is no longer able to produce a sufficient number of strong seizures to reset yer neurological operations."
"How strong…need to be?" John asked. Fear again took a firm hold, but his exhaustion seemed to be counteracting any physical response he may have to it. No longer being able to keep his eyes open, he closed them and allowed himself to relax into the mattress of the bed.
"Ye need to rest now, son. We'll talk about it again when ye wake up," Carson assured.
"Will I?" John mumbled in a barely audible voice.
"Will ye what, son?"
"Will I…wake up?" The question was whispered on an exhaled breath and then John was asleep before he could hear Carson's desolate answer.
"Aye. One way or the other, ye'll wake up. I promise ye that, laddie."