AN: I hate this fic. I love you guys. I hate this fic. I love you guys. I HATE this fic, but I LOVE you guys. (you see my conundrum?) Okay, when I say thanks to my betas this time, I REALLY mean thanks. Gaffer, Linzi, Shelly and Kylen. Special thanks to Kylen for reigning me in and telling me to slow down. I've got to put a plug in here for this writer, because her work is wonderful! They've been holding my hand, listening, emailing, offering input and helping me through this monster. I know, now you're all thinking 'shut up already, and on to the fic' so, here you go...
Chapter Eight
Sheppard always thought it was ironic how time could seem to vary, depending on the situation at hand. Back on Earth, two weeks would've been like a drop in a gallon bucket; there and gone in the blink of an eye. The routine of work and play blended into a finely tuned rhythm, and like a satisfying classic song on the radio, it played itself out and left you wanting to hear it again. He'd felt that way too many times since Dex and Mitch had died. Too many wild nights, celebrating missions that had ended in the good guys winning, and then they were gone, just like that. There had been a time where he would've given anything to go back, just once, and relive one of those nights.
But time wasn't forgiving, and he couldn't even say for sure that he'd ask for it again, if given the opportunity. Atlantis had changed his perspective. Time was relative, and not just the Einstein relative. John figured that there was either too much time, or not enough. And there wasn't any pause, rewind or fast forward. It was there, and it rolled on by, regardless of how much you wished it to turn back or move forward.
The two weeks that John had told himself wouldn't be that bad, were actually just that bad. The days seemed to take weeks, and the weeks felt like months. It hadn't just been like a baby crawling, but a snail, on a cold wet morning. Time inched. John tried not to blame his blindness, and the fact that he had to stay behind while his team were out there working and putting their lives at risk, but he knew the only one he was kidding was himself. Being useless wasn't something he'd ever thought he'd be, but that was exactly what he was. Rodney was building the remote device, sneaking parts home every night, while Ronon and Teyla continued to search for another set of city plans to verify the one they'd already copied.
The earlier confrontation with Teyla had served as a temporary release valve for the building pressure. John had hoped it would've lasted, but it didn't. When Ronon couldn't find his ball two days later, he threatened McKay, until John growled that it was under his bed, and that maybe if Ronon had stuck to bouncing it outside, they wouldn't have hidden it in the first place. That started an argument that ended in all four of them not talking to each other. The next morning, they acted like it had never happened, and tried to get along.
Tried was the operative word. Too many nights, they all went to bed pissed at each other. A lot of those nights, Sheppard sat on the porch, alone. He was beginning to accept that the blindness was permanent, which also meant that Rodney's shaking hand and weakness was too. There'd been a time a few nights ago where John had stumbled, and almost burnt his hand on the stove when he tried to catch himself. It'd stirred the anger and frustration all over again, and he'd thrown the dish in his hand, sending shattering pieces of glass all across the kitchen.
John hadn't even had the satisfaction of storming from the room. Instead, knowing that all the eyes of his team were boring into his back, he'd fumbled for the rope, latched on, and followed it out to the porch, before throwing himself on the steel ground and pushing his back against the wall. He'd sat there, furious, and wanting, like he'd never wanted before in his life, to hit something. Then Rodney had come after him.
At first he didn't know it was McKay. The door opened, and he listened to the footsteps. When the body settled next to his, he asked, "Who got the short straw this time?"
"Six letter word for 'the damned'?"
If he hadn't been so pissed, he would've smiled. "Rodney, go back inside, tell them you talked to me, and I'm fine. No one will know any differently."
"I would," he stated. Long legs pushed into John's, and Rodney's voice was a mixture of worry and irritability. "So, what was the tantrum about, anyway? Because if I didn't know any better, I would've thought you temporarily regressed to childhood."
He couldn't see McKay, he couldn't see the sky, the buildings, the clothes, hell, he couldn't even see when a damn bug was crawling on him, and they'd been right when they said the one thing Nokomis had was bugs. That was the point, he couldn't see. "I'm blind, Rodney. One tantrum isn't asking too much."
"You're not -"
Rodney had instantly gone into denying it, but John shook his head. "It's not getting any better, and it's been almost two months. I'm sick of telling myself that it'll get better, or that it's going to heal magically overnight." John didn't think there was a way to express how fucking depressing it was to go to bed at night, hoping and praying and wishing harder than you'd just about wished for anything before in your life, that tomorrow would be the day that it'd be different, that it'd be better, or lighter, or something, and then waking up to the same impenetrable darkness tinged with the taunting edge of grayness that had never changed. "I can't do it anymore," he said, haltingly, painfully. "I can't keep going to bed hoping for a miracle." John needed McKay to understand. To get it. But he should've known better.
"It's not a miracle for a brain injury to improve," Rodney snapped. "It's science, and it happens, so quit feeling sorry for yourself."
It was harsh, and it cut John deeper than he would've guessed, because more than anything, he'd fought the hardest not to feel sorry for himself. It hadn't been easy, and he was pretty sure there were moments when he'd failed, but damn it, he'd done his best, and to have McKay blithely accuse him of wallowing in self-pity wasn't helping.
A sharp comeback was right there, and he was literally seconds from delivering it, when a realization snaked into him with lightning reality. "You can't accept it," he accused softly. "It's not about me, it's about you."
The sudden jerk of McKay's legs told John he'd hit a bulls eye. "Are you delirious? I'm not the one throwing dishes across the kitchen. Seriously, fever, hallucinating?"
A cool hand was up against his forehead, and he hadn't seen it coming. John knocked it away and knew he was right. "You kept telling yourself that both of us would get better, and when I didn't, you had to start facing that you weren't going to either – that's why you're pissed. Because I'm trying to accept that nothing's going to change." Son of a bitch, things in the past few weeks solidified, and Rodney's whining, and cooking obsession, and everything, it all came together like puzzle pieces in the center of a jigsaw.
In the wake of John's accusation, the tension in the air thickened. He was sure if he reached a hand between them, he could almost touch it. Sheppard let his head rest against the back wall, and tried to give McKay time. And maybe time was the one thing they needed now, because the words came.
"I keep telling myself that a shaky hand is nothing compared to blindness," Rodney started talking, and when he did, it wasn't reluctantly or slow, but sharp and with an edge of surprise that made John think Rodney hadn't even realized he was going to talk until he actually was. "But it's funny how much that never really seems to help." A bitter laugh and McKay added, "Really didn't realize I was that much of a selfish bastard."
"You can't rate what you've lost against someone else." God knows, he'd done the same. He'd sat there and told himself that of all his team, he'd gotten the worst of it, and inwardly he'd wished it had been someone else. Then John had hated himself for thinking that because they were his team. His responsibility. If anyone should've came out worse, it should've been him. Nothing like being made to walk the talk, and find out just how short you come up in the march.
There was a pause before McKay said, "Don't tell me what I can't do." John let his head roll slightly to the side, so that it was facing Rodney, or at least he was pretty sure it was. As he was about to say something, what John wasn't exactly sure yet, he felt McKay move, and knew he was standing up. Rodney added from up above him, "It only encourages me."
John shook his head, and breathed deep as Rodney's footsteps faded. He let his head slide back, and closed his eyes. They were so screwed. The walking wounded. Ronon had improved attitude wise, because the cast was coming off soon, and Teyla had retreated under a stoic wall after the blow-up. Sheppard knew it was a vulnerability she now regretted, but he also knew, when this was said and done with and they were safely back on Atlantis, they were going to talk about it, whether he had to tie them all into chairs to do it. Eventually, he made his way through the quiet house, and went to sleep.
The day that Ronon's cast was to come off finally arrived, and there was a first for everything. Not one grumpy mood as they shared breakfast, and even though everyone had to work like good little Nokomisians, John felt a true glimmer of hope in his black world. This was the last hurdle they needed to get to, in order for them to move forward with their escape plans. They'd actually made it, and though Teyla still had problems with rotating her arm fully, between her and Ronon, the two of them were almost as able bodied as they could hope for; healed enough to compensate for the other two that hadn't been so lucky. He should've known it was too good to be true, that nothing had been that easy.
John listened from the couch where he'd been sitting, waiting for them to come home. What he could do during the day was pretty limited, and pretty boring. Nap, walk around the house following ropes, nap some more. The upside, he was never so rested before in his entire life. Sometimes he'd walk around the house, letting go of the ropes to see how accurate he could be on his own. Then, other times, he played mental chess with himself, which brought new meaning to the word stalemate. But a lot of the time he sat on the couch, listening, especially when his internal clock nagged at him that it was about time for them to return. That enough time had passed, and his solitary isolation was almost over for another day.
He'd never really gotten past the surge of fear that'd hit whenever the door would open. Being taken once by force had left a lasting impression that seemed to linger despite how many times he'd told himself it wasn't a big deal. He couldn't figure out if it was because of the fear that there were dissidents that might come for him again without any warning, or if it was the fear of realizing how helpless he was in this condition. Either way, it all boiled down to the fact that when he did hear the door opening, it always sent an uncomfortable spike of adrenaline through his body. Wandering deeply in his mental ramblings, John almost missed the sound of the door.
"Teyla?" Sheppard tensed. "McKay?"
There was a whisper of clothing and the familiar smell eased him even before the words did. "Yes, John."
There was something in her voice – "What's wrong?"
"Ronon's been arrested," she said urgently. "A few hours ago."
Heavy steps walked towards John, and the body dropped next to him on the couch. Sheppard turned towards him. "Rodney?"
The shoulder touching John's shrugged. "I'm surprised it hasn't happened before now."
Damn it! Ronon had gone to get his cast removed this morning. He had to wonder at the timing. Was it because now with his cast off, Ronon was a threat – a risk? "Did they nab him at the hospital, or after?" He automatically turned to the place Teyla had been last.
"I am over here, John," she called from the bedrooms. "It was after."
Sheppard really hated when they did that. If they walked when he was talking, or someone else was talking to him, he often missed it, and didn't realize they'd changed locations. "Did they say anything to you when they took him?"
"The woman in charge of monitoring our work found Ronon searching files that we were not allowed access to. He believed these files would not only verify the information we had, but also, indicate the structure behind the steel wall so we would know beforehand what was needed to get to the surface from there. I do not know where they have taken him."
Before he could formulate a reply, there was banging on the door. John was moving to get up and answer, because even though he was blind, he was still the one in charge of his team. Blindness hadn't taken the leader out of him. He was pretty sure whoever was at the door was there because of Ronon.
One thing his blindness had done was create overprotective teammates, though, and while Rodney pulled him back down, Teyla strode quickly across the room, her footsteps echoing by him, and called out, "Who is there?"
"It's Gadmere. John, we must talk."
John frowned into the darkness. He'd talked to Gadmere only once since they'd been discharged, at the hospital when they had returned for their check-ups. The administrator had always been unfailingly polite, but also inflexible when it came to any mention of letting his team go. It wasn't so much what Gadmere had said, but how he'd said it, that had tipped John off to the fact that if they did try to escape, the ramifications would be serious. And now Ronon had been arrested, and Gadmere showed up on their doorstep.
"Come in!" he shouted, making a decision. His team might be trying to keep him from harm, but he was still in charge. Besides, it wasn't like they could actually deny anyone entrance, especially not the administrator. None of this belonged to them. As galling as it was, they literally owed their lives to these people.
"Are you going to let him in?" Rodney hissed in his ear. "He might be standing on the other side of that door with an entire regiment of…cops."
Ruefully, Sheppard leaned towards McKay and asked, "Do you think we've got a choice? Besides, I want to hear what he has to say, so be nice."
Teyla walked back across the room, and he knew she'd taken up a protective position next to him. "Be careful, John. If he finds out that Ronon was doing so under your orders, you, too, may be arrested."
He smiled tightly, because that was exactly what he was hoping, but if he admitted it to them, there'd be more trouble right now. John listened as Gadmere walked in. Rodney muttered that the administrator seemed to be alone, before adding under his breath that he probably had his goons outside waiting to pounce.
"McKay," John warned out the side of his mouth.
"I know you realize why I am here," Gadmere said. His voice was loud, and came at John from directly in front of him. "Your friend, Ronon, faces serious charges."
"I told him to do it," stated John calmly, knowing that Rodney and Teyla both wore matching faces wreathed with consternation at his casual statement. Ronon was his responsibility and if anyone was going to get into trouble, it'd be him. Sheppard was hoping he could get Gadmere to release Ronon, and take him in his place. If they could come up with a plan and later rescue him, great. If not, they could escape and John would manage at least knowing they'd gotten out of here. Hell, what'd he have ahead of him, anyway? His career was over. All the lies he could tell himself about being useful only went so far in his mind at night before the cold reality of day shredded them. Especially when he couldn't see the day.
"I know you did, John." Gadmere didn't even sound flustered. When he continued, he did sound disappointed, though. "I thought I explained there would be no returning to the surface." The man sounded pained over it, almost as if they'd betrayed him. "I thought you understood."
"And I thought you understood," John replied heatedly. "We aren't from Nokomis. This isn't our world and this wasn't our choice. If you'd just let us go -"
Gadmere's feet echoed in the room as he began to move away. "You know I couldn't do that, and now, you've placed me in a very untenable position."
John was surprised by what he heard. It almost sounded like…regret. Rodney suddenly shifted forward, and what he said pissed John off while touching him at the same time. "He's lying. I told Ronon to look."
"No, they are both lying. I told Ronon to look," Teyla interjected.
John was gonna kill both of them if they ever got out of this. He was trying to be logical and they were trying to be heroes. "Gadmere," he said stiltedly, "You know who is the leader of my team. It's my responsibility. They do what I say…" he trailed off, and his mouth twitched at the irony as he added, "most of the time."
"I'm sorry it had to come to this, but your friend has already been sentenced." Gadmere said, his voice grave. "John, I told you that you must accept that you would be staying, but you didn't listen. It is an unfortunate thing that young Ronon shall pay the price for your lack of foresight."
"What price?" asked John tightly.
"We have only one price on Nokomis." John heard Gadmere move away, towards the door. "I'm truly sorry, but he'll be put to death two days from now."
John could hear the tension in Gadmere's voice, and fought against his own rising rage as the administrator spoke again.
"If it is any consolation, the death will be quick and painless."