AN: Wow, big response (can you see me grinning)! Just to clarify a little confusion, the story is complete, it's merely going through the beta/edit phase and as the chapters are divided up and gone through the wringer, they'll be making an appearance! Thanks again to gaffer, Linzi and Shelly. I'm driving them crazy, I fear. (see, more sheepish grinning)

Chapter 2

If you'd asked Sheppard which of his senses he'd rather be without, hearing or sight, he would've answered easily. Hearing. Between the two, the fear of being blind was easily the worst. Not being able to see anything around you…it was claustrophobic. Only seeing the blackness. It was heavy, and suffocating, and John had prayed like he never had before, that it wasn't permanent.

So when John woke from whatever those aliens had given him, being greeted by the blackness again scared him down to his soul. Without his eyes, he couldn't do his job. He knew, as much as he knew that day and night existed, that if an accident had caused him to lose his eyesight back on Earth before going on this expedition, it wouldn't have hurt this badly. But now, with all that he knew, and all that he'd seen, the thought of it being taken away caused him a pain so deep that it caused a snarl of hurt in his guts and it wouldn't let go.

He knew his breathing had quickened, and his heart was racing. John tried to force his body to respond, to calm down. He didn't want anyone to know he was awake…yet. Someone had captured them. He wanted to know who, and why.

"If you're trying to fool us into believing you're asleep, then it's a little late for that, my friend."

It caused John to jerk. He hadn't known anyone was there. And once again, he had cause to pray this wasn't permanent. "Who are you?" John didn't turn his head towards the voice. He didn't feel like pretending he could see when it was clear he couldn't. His eyes were open, and all he got was black. Unending blackness.

"My name is Gadmere. I was on the initial rescue team. You and your friends fell down an abandoned air shaft. You're very lucky to be alive."

"Lucky," echoed John. Shoving the self-pity aside, he asked, "The others?"

"The large one, with the…hair, he's recovering from surgery. His leg was broken in two places. He'll make a full recovery, in time."

Sheppard listened for everything in the words, and the tone of the voice. It was confident, slowly enunciated for him, and open. He couldn't sense any duplicity, but without seeing the face… "There are two others," he said, still tense.

"I know," Gadmere replied, amused at John's statement of the obvious. "The female had a significant injury to her arm, and internal bleeding. She, too, is recovering and will be fine. The other, the male, he suffered a fractured skull, and in addition to significant blood loss, there appears to be swelling on his brain. We've called in our best surgeon who will be arriving soon. If anyone can save your friend, this doctor can."

"Rodney," whispered John. "His name is Rodney. You've got to get us to the gate!" he demanded. "Our doctors can save him." At least, he hoped so. The description of the injury sounded dangerous, even for their own technology. But the thought of being at these aliens' medical mercy, almost caused him to come undone.

He could imagine them blundering around in Rodney's brain, and accidentally giving him a lobotomy. John didn't have any basis for believing they were advanced enough to do any good for McKay, and from what he'd seen of other worlds, he had every reason to believe they were only a step above others, like the Genii and the Hoffans.

"I'm afraid that's impossible. You four are now part of the Nokomis people. Once you are here, you must stay." Gadmere responded without compunction. "As for you, the doctor will review your case as well, and see if anything can be done for the blindness that has resulted from your head injury. I'm afraid, it too, was also severe. You may find there is some weakness, especially on your right side. There is some suspected brain damage from the blow to your head from the fall."

The panic was welling up again, deep inside, and it gripped relentlessly. John tried to breathe, in and out, slowly. The bed he was on felt soft, and alluring, and he willed himself to relax into it and just – calm - down. He was scared. John Sheppard was scared like a little boy. If anyone had asked him, he would've denied it to the end, but no one was asking, and he didn't have to fool himself. Adrift in a world without anyone he knew, blinded, injured, and no one to trust, and now being told that Rodney might not make it… "Can I see him?" he asked, before he cringed. See him. He couldn't. But he could sit with Rodney.

"What's you're name?" Gadmere asked suddenly. "It's not going to work if I keep having to refer to you as 'the other male'."

"John," he answered. The general rule in situations like this, well, okay, this was a first, but generally, you didn't give unknown aliens all your information. With that said, a first name wouldn't hurt. "My name is John. And I want to sit with Rodney." The thought of McKay dying alone made him feel queasy all over again. He also felt that maybe if he were there, next to Rodney, then McKay wouldn't die. John tried to fight against the rage that whispered at him, that if he wasn't blind he could do something, and get them back home and into the hands of Beckett and his staff.

A hand touched his shoulder, and John jerked away from it. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," apologized Gadmere. "Rest now, and I will talk to your doctor and see about visiting your friends."

John wanted to argue, but the ache in his head that had been only a dull reminder had risen to screeching intensity. The steel in Gadmere's words was plain even for the blind to see, and as much as he felt the desperate need to be near Rodney, or Ronon and Teyla, he also felt another need. To fall back into a world where he didn't have to confront his own condition and could escape the pain thumping like drums in his skull. Sheppard nodded his head tiredly. Rest. He would do it, for now. Close his eyes and pretend the darkness was normal. He could do that. Maybe just for a little while…

OoO

The next day passed in a hazy blur for John. He would wander in and out of consciousness, always tired, and demanding to see the other members of his team. Gadmere was often present with other medical staff. Through the confusion that centered in his mind, he did get that the man was some kind of administrator for the city.

The day after that, he woke up sweaty and forgot he couldn't see. A woman tried to calm him, but all John could do was ask for Rodney. Soon, Gadmere was next to him, soothing and trying to explain that he'd been hurt in a fall, and he needed to rest in order to see his friends. Sheppard didn't want to rest, he wanted to see Rodney, and where were Teyla and Ronon? He started to get out of bed, convinced these people were keeping him purposefully blind, but arms wrestled him back to the bed, and he felt the stab of a needle. There was a moment afterwards where the effects of the sedative hadn't fully kicked in, and John was still fighting, blind and frantic, but then everything slid away from him again.

When he next became aware, John tried harder to fight off the panic, not wanting to be drugged into compliance. He felt a strong need to get up, and find his team, and get the hell out of Dodge, but it's pretty hard to do when you can't even see where the exit is. This time, he found a more rational state, and tried to hold on to it. John shifted in the bed, the sheets rubbing together, and apparently alerted the administrator that he was awake.

"I'm sorry, John. Your condition worsened and we had to sedate you," Gadmere spoke from somewhere to John's right.

To say it was unnerving to hear someone talk, when you didn't even know they were there, was an understatement. Every time it kept happening, it made John realize just how much of a hindrance not being able to see truly was. Actually, hindrance wasn't quite the word he was looking for. Vulnerability was a more apt description. "My friends?" he asked hoarsely. It's all he wanted right now, was to talk to them, to know they were really alive and hadn't died or been killed.

"The one that calls himself Ronon," Gadmere chuckled to himself before continuing, "he's quite vocal about seeing you. The attending doctor will not let him move for fear of the bone slipping and becoming misaligned. I'm told the surgery to correct the breaks was more difficult than anticipated."

"But he's okay?" pressed John. "He'll heal?"

"Oh, yes," Gadmere assured him. "Your other friend, the woman, she is still being kept sedated. The initial operation missed a second injury, and it took another surgery to correct. Doctor Groton believes he will attempt to rouse her tomorrow. She needs time to heal, John, just as all of you do."

Sheppard noticed Gadmere didn't mention McKay. "And the other, Rodney?" he asked, holding his breath. John remembered not wanting McKay to die alone, and that he'd been hurt badly, but beyond that, his own mind was a jumbled mess.

The administrator was silent, and John turned his head in the direction the voice had been coming from, hoping the man was still there. "Just tell me," he said, needing to know. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

There was a sound like a harrumph, and then Gadmere admitted, "He's not doing very well, John. Doctor Groton and Doctor Calicut are doing their best, but the swelling around his brain has grown serious."

"I want to see my friends," he demanded. John didn't want to hear anymore excuses. He needed to see…crap…touch, hear…anything to have proof that they still lived. It was too easy to believe the worst in his dark world.

Gadmere didn't reply for a few minutes, and just as John was about to reiterate his wants, the administrator said, "Very well, but know this, it's not a good idea in your condition, and we are not responsible for any setbacks this causes."

The edge of hysterical laughter threatened to spill out. Setbacks? Was the guy serious? John was blind, barely able to stay awake from one minute to the next, while the rest of his team languished in God knows what kind of state, and Gadmere was pulling a CYA maneuver? "It's a risk I'll have to take," John offered wryly.

Sheppard listened as the administrator stood, trying to imagine what the clothing looked like as it ruffled together like nylon. He'd wanted to ask what the room looked like, the furniture, the people…everything, because none of this was familiar, and he was afraid that letting his imagination make connections to what he did know, was a dangerous game to fall into here. This wasn't his world, and these weren't his people.

"I'll be back with a wheelchair," Gadmere announced.

The administrator was true to his word, and with more effort than John had counted on, he was soon sitting up. For the first time, he realized the impact of what had happened. Not his injuries so much as their situation. His clothes were gone, gear, everything. He was wearing something that felt a lot like the scrubs from home. The cloth was thin, and he shivered in the chair. John knew they were underground, and he wondered if the entire city was this cool, or if it was just this building.

The trip to Ronon seemed to take forever, but John concentrated on memorizing the path. A right out of his room, straight ahead to the count of twenty, then a left, another twenty count and another right.

"Here we are." Gadmere wheeled him to a stop and John felt the chair shake slightly as the man did something to the wheels. Probably locking mechanisms.

John didn't hear the man move away, and guessing that Gadmere was still there, he said over his shoulder, "Can we have some privacy?"

"Oh." The administrator sounded flustered. "Certainly. We are only trying to help you and your friends, John," he repeated. "I'll return in twenty minutes."

He listened for fading footsteps, and was pretty sure when Gadmere was gone. It also sounded like the man had pulled a door shut behind him. At least, John hoped he had. Leaning forward, he reached out with a trembling hand, finding the blanket, and then Ronon's hand. His right side was weak, as Gadmere had warned him, but he shook the runner, trying to rouse him. "Ronon," he whispered.

Silence. A hot flood of emotion threatened to erupt, and John shoved it savagely down. It wasn't Ronon's fault that when John finally got a chance to see him, the man was asleep. But, God, the choking fear that what if this wasn't Ronon had snuck in his mind, without invitation, and now he couldn't stop wondering. Using his hands as eyes, John began to search upward. The stupid chair refused to move, and John slid forward, reaching with his left hand to steady himself by holding on to the bed, while exploring with his right. When he got to Ronon's head, he breathed out the breath he'd been holding. No one could fake Ronon's hair.

"Sheppard." Ronon's voice was sleepy and irritable. "Why are you holding my head?"

"John," he said, grinning like a fool. "First names only, just to be safe. And am I glad to hear your voice." The confession was uncharacteristic, and John didn't care. It was really, honest to God, Ronon Dex lying in that bed.

So relieved, that he didn't notice he was still practically fondling Dex's hair, when Ronon clasped his own larger hand around John's, and pulled it back. John flushed, embarrassed. This being blind – it took some getting used to. "Sorry, can't see."

"You're still blind?" asked Ronon, his low voice sharpened at the revelation.

"The feeling up your head didn't clue you in?" retorted John. "Or the fact that I'm probably staring over you right now?"

It came out pissier than he'd intended, but as screwed up as John's emotions were right now, he didn't need for Ronon to do something sappy and stupid like saying he was sorry. Course, John should've known better. This was Ronon, after all.

"Huh. That sucks."

John dropped back into his chair, only stumbling a little. "Yeah," he agreed whole heartedly. "You've got no idea."

There was an awkward pause before Ronon grunted and John heard the sound of a fist smacking into the bed. "What the hell did they do to my leg?" the runner finally ground out.

"I don't know," he said primly. "Because I can't see, remember?"

John heard an aggravated…was that a growl? "Did you just growl at me?" he demanded.

"Stop being whiny about your blindness," Ronon said, and it was short-tempered. "It's some kind of…pulley…thing. It hurts, and every time I try to move…it's impossible!" he snarled with even more frustration.

It dawned on him what Ronon was describing. Traction. They'd rigged his leg up in a traction device. "It's to keep you from screwing your leg up, you big baby." Now who was acting like the wimp, John thought with satisfaction.

"John, time's up. You still wanted to see the others," called Gadmere, from behind.

Frowning, John tried to figure out if twenty minutes really had passed already. He'd lost track. "Don't mess with your leg," he warned Ronon. "I'm going to see the others. You stay down and let it heal." John wanted them…no, needed his team, to recover without complications.

"You'll be back, right?" When Dex replied, the nervous edge surprised John.

"Tomorrow," he promised. John needed it as much as the Satedan.

Gadmere pulled him away, and Sheppard wished he could actually see Ronon. It'd been good to talk with him, though, and it was enough for now. John focused again on the path to Teyla's room, and it wasn't far this time. Two doors down. When he asked Gadmere why Teyla and Ronon were so close while he was farther away, the administrator explained that surgical patients were kept on the same ward.

"You and your friend Rodney," Gadmere said, "are kept on the ward for head injuries."

Teyla was sedated, but John held her hand for twenty minutes, in private. He explained that Ronon was nearby, and grumpy. That Rodney wasn't doing so hot, but he was a stubborn geek, and they were the hardest kind to kill. John didn't say anything about himself.

When Gadmere wheeled him to see Rodney, John felt worry latch on and grow with every beep of equipment he couldn't see, and every hum of the machine breathing for McKay. It was evidence that he couldn't deny. He might not have been able to physically see McKay, but he searched with his hands for Rodney's. Once his fingers found McKay's, John curled his around the scientist's, and didn't let go. "You've got to hang on, Rodney," John urged. "They've installed something like a shunt to drain the fluid so the pressure doesn't cook your brain."

Gadmere had explained that before he'd left them alone. The possible complications marched a steady litany through his mind. Infection, blockage, or the easiest of all…it just wouldn't work. Then the swelling would create pressure too great for Rodney's brain to withstand, and he'd die. When Gadmere had been explaining the procedure to John, he'd winced at the description of the incision. If McKay survived, he'd have a hell of a scar on his head. John couldn't stop thinking of Beckett's reaction. The Scot would undoubtedly swear prolifically with a lot of 'bloody this' and 'bloody that'. He wished they were back on Atlantis so he could hear it.

As John sat gripping Rodney's hand, his mind wandered past Beckett's reactions, into what would happen to him. He was blind, and though these Nokomisian doctors weren't Beckett, or any of the ones from Earth, from what he'd heard and had explained, they seemed at a level close to it, nullifying his earlier assessment. Doctor Calicut had explained at one point that the swelling from John's injury had compressed the optical nerve. They had a scary version of a C.A.T. scan machine.

The fear was that the swelling would fade, but the compression would have done permanent damage. And that's when Sheppard began to think maybe being stuck on Nokomis wasn't so bad after all. If they returned to Atlantis and he was still blind, he'd get shipped back to Earth. Medically discharged from the service, and put into a rehabilitation program. Bye bye Rodney McKay, and everyone else he'd come to care about. But mostly Rodney. He'd been the first person John had allowed in since losing Dex and Mitch in Afghanistan. There was nothing back on Earth for him.

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, the hand gripped in his own, began to tighten back. John lurched in the wheelchair, and squeezed clumsily in response. "Rodney?"

There wasn't a verbal answer, but McKay's fingers definitely tightened. "Someone! Hey…he's squeezing my hand!" John didn't know who was around, but there had to be someone. Damn it! He couldn't even see if Rodney's eyes were open.

Apparently, there had been someone in the room, and John found himself wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. Once they realized that McKay was responding to stimuli, Sheppard was first pushed out of the way, and then Gadmere arrived and began to take him back to his own room.

"What…no, wait!" he barked. "I want to stay, come on!" He almost got out of the chair and tried to force his way back, but Gadmere had quickened his pace. John knew if he tried that, it'd end with him sedated and probably losing any trust he'd managed to gain. Frustrated, he tightened his lips together. Son of a bitch.

"It's okay, John," the administrator soothed. "Let the doctor and his staff examine Rodney. Besides, I left you there far too long, and you need to rest."

As Sheppard was helped into his bed, he couldn't help but think just how frustrating being blind was. If someone told him the meal being fed to him was red, he'd believe it. That his clothes were blue, he couldn't tell. That Rodney was being examined. That he needed to rest. He had to trust them, and it ate at John, because he wasn't the trusting sort.

Gadmere settled the blanket up to John's waist, and said he'd send someone in with his dinner. Sheppard wanted to tell Gadmere what he could do with that dinner, and it involved something physically painful and complicated. "Damn it," he swore to himself. He was dependent on everyone, isolated. Even when he was with Ronon, he'd felt alone. Bereft of their faces, he'd relied on memory to do what his eyes couldn't. Yet, his memory wasn't accurate. He pictured faces that were healthy, and normal. John was sure they all had cuts and bruises in addition to the obvious injuries. And John couldn't see them. Not even his own.

Dwelling on it made him grumpy, and Sheppard could feel the irritability settling in for the long haul. He wanted his team here, with him. He also wanted them healthy so everyone could go back to Atlantis. Screw it, he wanted to be back with Rodney, and stay there until McKay woke up. And unicorns were real, and fairy tales did come true.

He'd never been one to feel sorry for himself. He hadn't before when he'd grown up with an ass for a father, and he hadn't when his friends had been killed in Afghanistan. John hadn't even flinched when he'd been given a black mark for trying to save lives. By then, he'd learned that life wasn't fair, and anyone who tried to say different was selling something Mrs. Sheppard's little boy wasn't buying. If you had your life, that was more than a lot of other poor saps had at the end of the day, and he'd learned to take it and be thankful.

But being reduced to this state had made John rethink his beliefs. When he was awake, John found he went through cycles; panic, fear, anger. Tonight he felt the anger, and he felt more tired than usual, out of sorts. There, for a moment, when Rodney had squeezed back -

"The staff is busy so I thought I'd bring you your dinner," Gadmere announced from the doorway. "Are we feeling better, John?"

Sheppard knew from the location of the voice, that Gadmere had walked through the door already talking. The administrator had realized that it…not exactly scared, but startled John when he didn't hear someone approach, and then suddenly they were next to him, either talking or reaching to take his temperature or do an exam. John had tried to hide how much that simple act meant to him, but he wasn't sure he succeeded. All the staff that came to help now called out as they entered his room. He was thankful and angry at the same time because it was yet another reminder of his condition.

"You might want to turn around and leave," cautioned John.

An amused chuckle floated from nearby. "Ah, mad at the world again, are we?"

"Wouldn't you be?" he retorted. "I can't see. I'm stuck relying on strangers, and all my team remains bedridden, one of them might not even make it." John was surprised he was talking so openly, but then again, it'd been days and he was losing any ability to keep himself objective.

He heard Gadmere deposit the tray on a table, before settling into a chair next to his bed. "I suppose so. But, things could always be worse, John. I talked to Doctor Calicut, and he has informed me that your Rodney is showing increasing signs of awareness. Aside from responding to your touch, he's opened his eyes a few times for us. Calicut believes the next couple of days will prove crucial. If he continues to move out of the coma, his odds of recovery rise substantially."

"That's…good," John said lamely. And it was, so why did he feel so useless and hopeless tonight? Did he really want to become one of those people that go around feeling sorry for themselves? John knew the answer was a resounding no, but then, why was he feeling like it now?

"When you're better, would you like to go on a tour of our city?" Gadmere asked.

"When all of my team can go," John corrected. "Then yes, I would." That way the others could see about finding a way back to the surface. John knew he'd have to rely on his team to do the scouting for him, but he'd do what he could. He was trying to do simple things, like feed himself. Wasn't always a success, but the staff got the point that John didn't want nor would accept help in that area. Damn it, he'd been feeding himself since he was a toddler, and Sheppard wasn't about to stop now.

"It's a date, then," the administrator declared. John heard the man lean forward before Gadmere asked, "What's wrong, you look…"

Suddenly, he was leaning over John. Sheppard could tell from the movement of air over him, and the sounds. A cool hand touched his forehead. Gadmere yanked it back, swearing. "Haka! You're burning up!"

John heard footsteps fading, and more shouting, then more people were coming in his room. No wonder he'd felt so tired, and out of it. Oddly, he felt relieved. Fighting against wallowing in self-pity was a constant battle, but he'd never seemed to lose so spectacularly as he'd seem to tonight. If he was coming down with something, that explained a lot. It was hard to find optimism when you felt like hell.

"John, does it hurt anywhere?" Gadmere asked gently.

Hurt anywhere? Yeah, you could say it did. Hurt down deep because he was fighting against the sudden urge to beg these people to go to the gate. John wanted Atlantis, and Beckett, and Elizabeth…and a healthy Rodney. John was tired of trying to be okay around everyone, and not let the Nokomis people see his fears. Trying to keep from telling too much, while wanting nothing more than a rescue team to take them back.

And he was just feeling so damn bad tonight… "My stomach," he finally answered. It did hurt. Why hadn't he noticed how bad before?

"John, the doctor's going to examine you. Don't worry, no one will hurt you."

Gadmere's warning was followed up by the doctor's probing hands on his belly, and his shirt being adjusted. His heart was listened to and he was asked to cough, and breathe, and cough again.

The voices moved away, and then there were murmurs that he couldn't hear clearly. He was so tired…he'd just sleep, for a little while –