A/N: Thank you all as always for the feedback and for sticking with me. And just because I haven't said it in a while, thank you to my fabulous beta Alipeeps without whom this story would be unreadable.

Chapter 16

The Cold Light Of Day

He loved the sound; it was a like a heartbeat, the machine was part of him and he was part of the machine. There was no other rush like this, watching the ground scroll away beneath him, feeling part of the clear blue air, reaching up and touching the clouds. Sensations flooded his mind, colours and tastes. Afterwards he had sat in the cockpit not wanting it to end, not moving until he felt a hand on top of his head ruffling his hair. Turning, he saw his father grinning at him.

"C'mon buddy, time to go." His Dad leant forward and plucked him from his seat and carried him back across the airfield. He looked back at the helicopter longingly. "Hey, cheer up! I'll take you up again next weekend, if you want." He nodded vigorously and was rewarded by another grin from his father. "Well alright then, I guess that's what we'll do, John…"

"…John? John, can you hear me?" His eyes flickered open briefly, or at least one of them did; it closed again quickly at the stinging bright light. His father's voice had taken on a distinctly Scottish burr.

"The light's gone now. C'mon son, open your eyes for me." He finally put a name to the persistent voice and, forcing his eye open once more, a blurry vision of the man himself appeared in front of him. Beckett. "That's it."

"Sleeping," he mumbled.

"I know and I wish I could let you. Do you know where you are, son?"

His vision flickered across the ceiling and then back to the doctor.

"Home?" That elicited a smile from the Scot.

"Aye, son. You're home. And we're all very happy to have you back, I can tell you."

The pressure on his face, he realised, was an oxygen mask. He tried to shift his position on the bed but found his body unresponsive. He looked up at the doctor, a flutter of panic in his stomach.

"Numb."

"Don't worry, that's the analgesic. That's so you can breathe normally without any pain. We've put an epidural catheter in; we're going to have to keep you like this for a while I'm afraid." John relaxed; Carson was the only doctor he'd ever had complete faith in. If the Scot said he was going to be okay, he believed him. He felt his mind drifting again and battled to keep his eye lids open. "It's alright, lad," Carson said upon seeing his struggles. "Just a couple of little checks and you can go back to sleep."

OoOoo

Rodney slipped out of his bed, wincing as his bare feet touched the cold floor. He knew that Sheppard had briefly woken up earlier and Rodney had told Beckett exactly what he thought of not being informed of this development so, upon hearing the doctor's soft voice coming from the vicinity of Sheppard's bed in the adjoining room, he decided to go and investigate. Tiptoeing the short distance to the ICU across the tiled floor, so as to avoid the wrath of the nurses, he pushed his way through the curtain and, ignoring Beckett's protestations, leaned over the bed, peering at Sheppard's face.

"Is he awake?" Rodney asked the doctor before addressing the patient directly. "Are you awake?"

"No. Go away," came the mumbled reply. The scientist narrowed his eyes.

"And here was me hoping that a crack on the head might actually have improved your personality."

"Least I have one." The reply came back without hesitation and some of the tension in Rodney's face washed away and was replaced by a glint of amusement; this was more like how things should be, a constant game of one-upmanship.

"Well, I see you're back to your old self. I told Carson you'd be fine." He pretended not to notice the doctor rolling his eyes. "So, are you going to thank me for saving your skinny ass or what?"

Sheppard smiled, at least Rodney thought it was a smile; the Colonel was already slipping into unconsciousness again as he mumbled, "I knew you wouldn't leave me behind…" Rodney opened his mouth and then shut it again, before sitting down heavily on the bedside chair and watching his friend drift back to sleep.

ooOoo

It was 6:30 am. It had been two days and the city had settled into a kind of shell-shocked stillness. The infirmary was quieter now, a world away from the frenetic environment of the last two days. Each bed was full, as were those in the adjoining room. Elizabeth's gaze was drawn to the curtained-off bed just inside the door of the ICU. Rodney had somehow persuaded Carson to let him have the bed at the end of the ward so he could keep an eye on John through the glass.

"Good morning, Rodney."

"Ah! Elizabeth." He smiled, wincing as the stitch in his bottom lip pulled.

"You look much better this morning."

"Well, I guess I don't look too bad for someone who's been through a hideous ordeal." He poked gingerly at his lip until Carson walked up and swatted his hand away.

"Hideous ordeal? Sounds rather like having you for a patient." The physicist sneered at Carson. "And your lip wouldn't hurt so much if you'd keep quiet for five minutes."

"It wouldn't hurt so much if you gave me strong enough painkillers."

"Rodney, you don't need painkillers," the medic sighed.

"Easy for you to say, you're not the one in agony." Rodney croaked out his words, rubbing his bruised throat as if to prove a point. Elizabeth shook her head at him and turned to the physician, who looked pale and drained.

"Carson, you need sleep." He cast her a sideways glance.

"Hark who's talking. You know as well as I do, Elizabeth, we don't have the medical staff to deal with this many patients. We've worked out a rota system but none of us are going to be getting much sleep for the next few days." He picked up McKay's chart and scribbled a note on the bottom of it. "At least we'll be shot of this one later today."

"Hey! I'll have you know I'm the model patient, the fault lies with the doctor."

"Rodney!" Elizabeth scolded, raising her eyebrows; he sank a little lower in the bed. "So Carson, can you give me something to smile about this morning?"

"Well, the news is bittersweet, I'm afraid. Sergeant Hunter has improved overnight, he's still critical but stable and his progress is as much as we can hope for. Corporal Warren has lost her leg, as you know, but she's doing really well; I'm confident she'll make a good recovery."

"That's something."

"Unfortunately, Corporal Austin isn't doing so well. He's not responding to treatment; we're doing all we can but quite frankly it doesn't look good, the damage is too extensive." Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest, wondering when the nightmare was going to end. Her eyes drifted to the curtained-off bed through the glass.

"And John?"

"It was a close run thing but Ronon and Teyla got him here in time."

This time Rodney looked genuinely wounded. "Ronan and Teyla? I was the one who did the brave rescuing bit, they just turned up at the end."

Elizabeth smiled at him. "We know that Rodney, and I for one am extremely proud of you. Especially bearing in mind your own injuries." An expression of contentment took up residence on his face, a typical Rodney reaction to flattery, she thought to herself, but in this case what she'd said was true - the scientist had acted with strength and courage. Rodney had changed a great deal in the past three years, friendship tended to do that to people and, whether they'd admit it or not, somewhere along the way Rodney and John's friendship had become pretty much unbreakable. She turned her gaze back to the curtained-off bed and spoke to Carson. "He's going to be okay?"

"I think so. He's doing well. His chest injuries are going to be a long while healing and the head wounds are a little bit of a worry, there's two separate skull fractures. It's going to be a long and painful road for him but the fact that he's still with us is testament to how tough he is.

His hand is a bloody mess, quite frankly, and it'll never be as strong as it was but with physiotherapy it shouldn't hinder him. Most of the other bruising is…superficial, for want of a better word. He's lost a lot of weight, as you saw, and there's some muscle atrophy, not to mention that they were pumping him full of enough drugs to knock out an elephant." Carson's eyes stared at the curtain, almost as if he could see through it, and his voice sounded distant. "He's a tough little bugger that one."

"Yes, he is. Has he been awake?"

"Aye. We're having to wake him up every couple of hours, just briefly, but he knows where he is and how he got here. Even had the presence of mind to insult Rodney."

That made Elizabeth's smile widen.

"That's all the thanks I get for saving his life," the scientist grumbled.

"May I sit with him for a while?" she asked. Carson nodded and patted her arm.

"Go ahead."

Stepping through the glass door and slipping inside the curtains, she sat down in the chair beside John's bed. Behind her, she heard Carson bullying Rodney into taking a shower, assuring the Canadian he didn't need a wheelchair to make it to the bathroom. John lay with his head slightly to one side; his skin was so pale it was nearly the colour of the white sheets, which made the ugly bruising even more difficult to look at, and the black stitching of the cut running from his hairline back toward his crown made her wince just to look at it. At least the swelling around his eye had lessened a little.

Noticing that his oxygen mask had slipped, she leaned forward and tried to readjust it, snatching her hands away as he suddenly moved and his eyes opened. He looked up at her, momentarily confused, and after a second she saw his face relax.

"Hey," he drawled.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No. S'fine." His eyes drooped shut and for moment she thought he had fallen back asleep but they opened again drowsily. "Brain feels like mush."

"Nothing new there then." The corner of his mouth twitched upward into something resembling a smirk.

"Did I ever tell you your bedside manner sucks?" Although the words were slurred with sleep and his eyes were hazy, she couldn't help but feel relief at this little piece of normalcy.

"Several times."

His dark eyes focused on her, his brow furrowing slightly. "You okay?"

Letting out an astonished laugh she shook her head. "Am I okay? John, look at you."

"Answer the question, Doctor."

"I'm just…It's been a hellish couple of days - couple of months."

"How many have we lost?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve," he repeated, his voice barely audible. "Could've been worse."

Elizabeth nodded, feeling a knot in her stomach. "I know. We have three more in intensive care." She looked around at the assorted machinery. "Four if we include you."

"I'll live." He frowned at her. "I am gonna live, right?"

"Yes. It looks like we're stuck with you."

"Sorry 'bout that!" She gently gripped his arm and swallowed back the lump rising in her throat.

"I'm not."

ooOoo

The next time John woke, it was to the sound of voices shouting instructions as Corporal Austin was rushed back into surgery. They never brought the young man back into the infirmary. Questioning one of the nurses the next morning, he found out that the young marine had died on the table.

Elizabeth checked in on him first thing, making sure he really was still there, before visiting all the other wounded and being briefed on their conditions. He wondered if she had slept at all since he last saw her and came to the conclusion that she probably hadn't. Teyla sat with him most of the morning and, after some badgering and in-between his frequent dozes, told him about what had happened over the last few weeks, filling him in on the details of the invasion and the events leading up to it, though he suspected he was getting a sanitised version. Not long after she left, McKay came and sat with him until Carson kicked him out of the infirmary and sent him to rest in his own quarters. Ronon stayed clear but he had expected as much; the big man wasn't one for words and he avoided the infirmary if he could get away with it.

Over the next few days things fell into a routine; Elizabeth would always visit first thing and then do the rounds of the other patients, McKay and Teyla would visit everyday, even if it was only for a short while, and various others popped in from time to time, even Caldwell making friendly but slightly awkward conversation. In between visitors he drifted in and out of sleep but, as his periods of consciousness grew longer and his frustration at being immobile became increasingly manifest, he slowly felt the euphoria of getting home ebb away. So when Kate Heightmeyer turned up at his bedside, he wasn't surprised to see her.

"How are you feeling, Colonel?"

"I've been better." Her smile seemed genuine enough but he'd never really trusted psychologists; you could see their minds working overtime, thinking out every word before they spoke, calculating their expressions and picking up on harmless comments and turning them into "issues".

"Sorry, that was a bit of a silly question, wasn't it? You've been through a very traumatic experience."

"Hasn't everyone? You must be wishing you got paid by the patient right now." He noticed her tense up and felt a little guilty for his harshness. "Sorry. I guess this hasn't exactly been easy on you, there must be a lot of screwed up people out there right now."

She settled herself into the chair next to the bed and rested a notepad on her knee. "Why do you do that? Transfer everything on to other people? From what Carson and Elizabeth tell me, you've been worrying about everyone but yourself. Right now you need to concentrate on you."

"I'll be okay. I've been…"

"Through worse? Really?" Raising her eyebrows she looked at him, incredulous.

"No. Not exactly," he had to concede. "Though nearly mutating into a bug wasn't exactly my idea of a good time. But at the end of the day you pick yourself up and you carry on."

"Sometimes that's easier said than done. I know you've been through some tough times before, and you've always coped remarkably well, but we all need a little help now and then."

"I really don't see that talking about it is going to do any good. It's not going to change anything, it won't bring those thirteen men and women back from the dead."

"You think you're responsible for their deaths?"

"And there you go twisting my words. Chances are, if I'd been here people would still have died, you don't have to tell me that, but I was their CO and that alone makes me responsible for them." He tried to think of a way to explain it. "It's like being a parent; their lives are entrusted to you and you do everything in your power to keep them safe."

"By sending them into a war zone with big guns?" She raised an eyebrow.

"It was an analogy. You know what I meant."

"You couldn't have prevented what happened here, you were captured."

"I was careless." She leant back in her chair and he gritted his teeth as he watched her scribbling down notes. "I'm tired."

"Well, that's a not too subtle way of telling me to go away."

"We're in the middle of a crowded infirmary. Forgive me for not wanting to bare my soul to you."

"Would you be anymore inclined to talk to me if we were in my office?" His silence must have given her the answer to her question. "No, I thought not." Standing, she nodded briskly. "Okay. I'll leave you alone for now but remember, even when you're physically fit, you're not going to be cleared for duty until I say so."